


Thicker Than Water

by SerPaladuck



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3758818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerPaladuck/pseuds/SerPaladuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the King of Nevarra comes to Skyhold on diplomatic business, Josephine find herself helping Cassandra to deal with long-buried pain, and in the process becomes much closer to the Seeker. Originally written for a prompt on the Dragon Age Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Longing

Josephine looked up from the document she had been reading, rubbing her eyes tiredly. The height, or rather lack of height, of the candles on her desk told her it was probably time she called it a night. Through the window of her study she could see it was fully dark outside, and the usual cacophony of voices from the courtyard – soldiers training, scouts catching up and passing on the latest information or simply gossip, and the steady stream of visiting nobles and dignitaries conversing amongst each other, had died to the night-time quiet, where she could often hear the voices of the Chantry mothers leading evensong.

Sighing, she returned her gaze to the letter that had sent her thoughts into disarray, its heavy blob of sealing wax bearing the distinctive Pentaghast skull heraldry. Within the confines of her mind she heard Cassandra making one of her distinctive noises of disgust about the Nevarran obsession with death and Josephine’s lips tugged involuntarily upward even as she inwardly wondered how it was that any thought of Cassandra, however fleeting, brought warmth and peace to her thoughts. Leliana would never let her hear the end of it if she realised the full extent of her obsession. Still, it had at least brought her to a course of action if not a decision. Leliana would probably be alone in the rookery at this hour and would offer pleasant company, and possibly useful advice on her current impasse. Her mind made up, Josephine gathered up the loose papers on her desk, tidying them away into neat bundles away from casual prying eyes. Her business might not be as secret as Leliana’s, but after the time Sera had drawn obscene … _diagrams_ over some important correspondence with the Orlesian court, she had learned it was best not to leave anything unattended. Once everything was secure, she took up a pair of glasses and a bottle of one of the fine Orlesian vintages she kept for such occasions and set off in the direction of the tower.

As she had hoped, the rookery was quiet, or as quiet as it ever got with the incessant cawing of the ravens that were the lifeblood of the Inquisition’s spy network. The spymaster herself was alone with her back to the stairs, but turned swiftly at the sound of Josephine’s feet on the steps.

“Josie!” Leliana exclaimed happily, tossing aside the map she had been scrutinising and pulling out a chair beside her. The redhead’s eyes dropped to the bottle clutched in the ambassador’s hands and her smile widened. “Is there something special I ought to know about?”

“Sadly not Leliana, I merely thought you could use some company, while I could use a friendly ear, if you’ve one to offer.”  Josephine gratefully sank into the offered chair, cheered already by her friend’s presence.

“Oh?” Leliana’s brows raised curiously. “And is this a professional matter, or are you just going to moon over Cassandra again? Because if so, my advice will remain the same as the last time-“

“I do not _moon_.” Josephine protested hotly. “I…. admire, from afar.”

“But of course. They are _so_ different.”

“I would have thought someone as knowledgeable as you would have known there is a long and noble tradition of unrequited pining in Antiva. A well brought up lady should content herself with longing looks at the object of her affection for at least… three to six months.” She was joking of course, but that didn’t stop an exasperated roll of the eyes from the spymaster.

“Josephine, I should not need to point out that with the current state of the world you may not have three months. You really should tell her how you feel. I’ve seen the way she watches you when she thinks no one is looking, I’m quite sure your _pining_ is anything but unrequited.”

The ambassador suppressed a sigh of irritation. This was not the first time they had had this particular discussion, and part of her, the rational part that was perfectly capable of facing down kings, counts and lords, knew full well that Leliana was right, and that even if she was wrong and her feelings for the Nevarran warrior were not returned it was better to know, and to be able to move on. Over the past few months they had progressed from casual acquaintances to good friends, enjoyed walks on the battlements and long discussions about shared interests in literature, but the fear of losing the connections they had made held her back from trying to take the final step towards nudging their friendship into courting. She had made her mind up on multiple occasions that it was the right time to broach the subject, had even set out to talk to Cassandra more than once with this thought in her head, but when faced with the object of her desires all her courage melted away like snow with the spring rains, leaving her cursing the cravenness that stopped her tongue and left her almost shaking with suppressed longing. Gathering her composure, she wrestled the conversation back onto the topic she had come to discuss.

“As a matter of fact, it does somewhat concern Cassandra, although you needn’t look quite so pleased with yourself, as it is official Inquisition business, and not a personal matter.” Josephine did her best to ignore the amused gleam in Leliana’s blue eyes. “As you know, the Inquisition has been trying to garner support from all the ruling houses of southern Thedas, with varying degrees of success.  The involvement of the Venatori with Corypheus and the possibility of assistance from Tevinter has made the goodwill of Nevarra ever more important, but so far we’ve made little if any progress with any of their nobility. At least until today, when I received a personal letter from King Markus himself. It was long and somewhat rambling, but in summary, he expressed an interest in coming to a diplomatic accord, but only on condition that he comes here, in person, to negotiate it.”

All trace of her earlier teasing humour vanished from the spymaster’s face in an instant. “That is somewhat surprising. King Markus is known to be in very poor health and of somewhat uncertain mind, and my agents report he rarely ever leaves his residence.”

Josephine nodded in agreement, taking a sip of the rich wine and feeling her earlier tension begin to recede. “Some Nevarrans believe he is already dead and his Mortalitasi advisers have been ruling the country, but I’m sure that is fanciful speculation. But even without the matter of his failing health, it’s somewhat unusual for a person of his stature to conduct such negotiations in person. What is even odder is that he insists that Cassandra is also present at any such discussions.”

Leliana’s puzzled frown echoed the expression Josephine herself had worn earlier in the day when she had first read the missive. “Why would he make such a condition? We both know that Cassandra has absolutely no interest whatsoever in affairs of state, not to mention that she bears such little love for her homeland that she hasn’t set foot on Nevarran soil in close to thirty years. There is their familial connection, but they are distant relatives at best, what, fourth cousins?”

“Third,” Josephine corrected before she could stop herself, and instantly wished she could wipe the knowing grin from the spymaster’s lips. “Regardless, I was under the impression they barely knew each other, if at all. Have they ever even met to your knowledge?”

“Perhaps many years ago, but Cassandra would have been a child then. I don’t know for sure, she does not speak often of her childhood. I am certain they have not had any meetings in recent years.” The redhead sighed softly, winding a finger absently through a strand of hair beside her ear. “Now I see your difficulty. Cassandra will not be happy about this development, but nonetheless you must proceed with your negotiations.” There was a pause as Leliana swirled the wine in her glass pensively, the ruby red catching the light of the candles beside her desk, before she turned to face Josephine fully, taking one of the ambassador’s hands in her free one. “Josie, I know you care for Cassandra and you do not wish to incur her displeasure, but the needs of the Inquisition outweigh those of one individual. Cassandra may be stubborn and difficult at times, but even she will see that, she is not blind to reason.”

“Yes of course,” Josephine blinked back a retort that she would put her own concerns above the Inquisition’s needs. “It’s just that, well, she has been so withdrawn since the matter at Caer Oswin, I do not wish to add to her worries.”

Leliana’s expression softened, her fingers rubbing soothing circles against Josephine’s palm. “Oh Josie… you are hopeless you know. Cassandra will be fine, this is just how she deals with problems that she can’t resolve by sticking a sword in them. The best thing you can do is let her know you are there for her if she wishes it, but otherwise let her deal with it herself. She will come to you when she is ready.”

The honest affection in her friend’s tone made a gentle warmth bubble up in Josephine’s stomach, displacing the tension that had crept in, or perhaps it was the wine, but regardless she felt a lot lighter than she had before she had come up to the rookery.  “You are right, I shall just have to find the right moment to broach the subject.”

The spymaster reached over to top up her glass. “Perhaps, if you find the right moment, you might bear in mind what I said earlier. Trust me Josie, have I ever been wrong before? At this rate you will both be old women before either of you dares to admit what is so blatantly obvious.”

“Very well, I will consider it.” Josephine regarded Leliana’s smug smile, and an answering one of her own crept across her features. “Since you are in such a teasing mood, how about a few hands of Wicked Grace?”

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

Josephine had begun to think she would never find a suitable opportunity to broach the subject of the troublesome correspondence with Cassandra. The Seeker was normally somewhat reserved, not given to spending evenings carousing in the tavern like some of the inquisitor’s closer companions, and her accommodations in the smithy meant fewer opportunities to run into her within the main keep, but usually she could at least be encountered at meals, or at prayer in the chantry. However since returning from the tragic attempt to discover the fate of the remaining Seekers of Truth, she had barely been seen by anyone. It had bothered Josephine, Cassandra was clearly in considerable emotional turmoil and it seemed cruel to allow anyone to be alone at such times, but Leliana and the inquisitor, even Cullen, had been firm in their instructions to let her be, and so she had reluctantly acquiesced. This evening though, as she returned from a twilight walk across the battlements to clear her head after a long war council, she spotted a familiar figure making her way to the armoury with a long, loping stride, dark head bent over a bundle in her grasp.

“Cassandra!” Josephine called out and hurried down the steps to the courtyard, relieved to see her quarry had paused and turned to wait for her.

“Lady Montilyet,” Cassandra inclined her head courteously, “did you need something?”

“There was a matter I wished to discuss with you, if you have the time. But I do not wish to intrude upon your evening.” Politeness was a familiar shield Josephine fell back on when uncertain, and it availed her now to suppress the strange feelings that threatened to submerge her whenever she was alone with the other woman. A yearning, a _longing_ , that made all her want to abandon all manners and restraint and throw herself into Cassandra’s arms, to trace the sharp planes of her cheekbones with her fingertips, to taste her lips, to be gathered against that strong body, protected and cherished. It was foolish and frightening, she wanted it so intensely, and yet feared it at the same time, this obsession that robbed her of sleep and sometimes sanity.

“You are in love Josephine,” Leliana had merely laughed when she had complained once about the turbulent moil of emotions that raged within her. “You think you have loved before, but when it happens, you realise what you thought was love was a mere childish infatuation. It is wonderful and terrible and it changes you forever.” The bard’s gaze had turned inward, a wistful note in her voice, and Josephine had sensed her thoughts had strayed once more to her lost Warden. She dismissed the recollection as she realised Cassandra was speaking, a faint crease of her dark brows the only sign she had noticed Josephine’s momentary distraction.

“As it happens, I have no plans, and I would enjoy some company, although I warn you now you may find yourself wishing for a more convivial companion. I was just about to make some tea, if you wish to join me.”

Nodding assent, Josephine followed Cassandra into the smithy and took one of the rough wooden chairs as the other woman busied herself with setting some water to boil. The normally busy forge h was deserted and quiet at this time of the evening but still wonderfully warm, the slowly cooling embers of the fires casting a soft orange glow into the loft the Seeker had claimed as her living space. Cassandra had evidently been returning from the bath house deep in the bowels of Skyhold, for she was out of armour, clad only in leggings and a loose linen shirt, her hair still damp and sticking up in sharp spikes. Even her usually neat crown braid hung undone in a loose plait, a ribbon keeping the ends from tangling. Josephine shuddered as a spike of heat welled up in her loins at the thought of the long strands hanging loose down Cassandra’s bare back, of running her fingers through them as her lips traced across muscled shoulder to sinuous neck…

“You’re wool-gathering again,” a tinge of amusement coloured Cassandra’s voice as she handed a steaming mug to Josephine. “It’s not like you to be so distracted.” Dark eyes regarded her curiously, a softness to her expression that hinted at the kindness and compassion the Seeker hid beneath her brusque outer façade.

“My apologies,” Josephine stammered, cursing the traitorous blush that warmed her cheeks. This was humiliating. She had been taught the Game by masters, and yet her she was incapable of keeping her thoughts in check for more than a few moments. It was absurd, an utter folly. “I was just wondering how you were. We have seen little of you these past few days.”

“I am … better than I have been, enough that I can move forward. There is still much in the Lord Seeker’s book that troubles me, but I need not deal with it all now. In some ways, I feel relieved, as if a veil has been pulled from before my eyes.”

Josephine took a sip of the herbal tea, finding it bitter but surprisingly refreshing. “I feel I- we, all of us, should have done more to help you with it, but Leliana insisted it was better to let you be.”

You have a kind heart Josephine,” Cassandra smiled over the rim of her mug, long fingers caressing the metal. “You need not feel guilty, the failing is mine, not yours. I have been upbraided many times for my tendency to turn any… _difficult_ feelings into anger, but I am what I am. It is better I deal with such alone, lest I lash out at those I should not wish to hurt, and I would definitely not wish to hurt _you._ “ The warrior’s gaze dropped to her mug as her voice became quieter, gentler, and Josephine found herself wishing she had time alone to process the implications of that statement, before Cassandra looked back up, continuing in a brighter tone. “Leliana is a good friend who has been on the wrong end of my temper a few times, mostly undeservingly. It is not surprising that she would give you such advice.”

For a little while they sat in silence, punctuated only by the occasional sounds of the dying fires and the rattle of wind against the pane. It was a pleasant, undemanding silence rather than an uncomfortable one, and Josephine regretted she must break it with the news she had come to deliver.

“Cassandra, if I might ask a personal question, how well do you know King Markus?”

Cassandra’s brows furrowed, a frown creasing her forehead. “Not at all really.” Her knuckles, Josephine noticed, had turned white where she gripped her mug with sudden force. “He is family of course, but I have only met him twice, and I was very young then, I barely recall anything about either occasion now. Why do you ask?”

There was clearly more to this than Cassandra’s apparently casual tone let on, but Josephine did her best to quiet her misgivings and carry on. “I have been trying to come to an accord with Nevarra to formally recognise the Inquisition. In addition to any purely political significance, such an agreement would grant freedoms for our personnel to operate in Nevarran territory, which at the moment is particularly vital if we are to shut down the routes by which Venatori agents have been able to cross over into Orlais. Up until recently, despite many carefully crafted letters and entreaties, I had been unable to make any headway at all, but now King Markus himself wants to come to Skyhold and negotiate a treaty in person.”

“He wants to come _here_?” Cassandra hissed, her mug falling to the table and splashing tea as she abruptly rose to her feet, turning her back to Josephine as she leaned against the railing, gazing down into the darkness of the armoury floor below.

“Leliana was surprised as well. She said he has barely been seen about in public and that he is very frail and ill.” Josephine watched Cassandra’s chest rise and fall as she let out a deep breath, flexing her fingers as if she was mentally centring herself. “There… there’s more. He has asked that you be present in person as a condition of commencing negotiations.”

Cassandra whirled around so suddenly Josephine was unable to stop herself from flinching from the fury in the warrior’s face. “Why?” she growled, her voice thickened by anger. “Why would he ask such a thing? As far as most of the Pentaghast clan are concerned, I am nothing but an outcast and an embarrassment. I am surprised he even remembers my name, but then the Pentaghasts always love documenting everything that pertains to their precious blood. You would think it ran with gold the way they obsess over such things.”

“I honestly don’t know. I’m sorry, I would not ask if there was any other way,” Josephine tried to suppress the feeling of shame that welled up in her, although the logical part of her brain insisted she had only made a perfectly reasonable request. The Seeker’s anguish was palpable, even if the ambassador did not quite understand it.  Cassandra had made her contempt for most of her family quite plain, and she had not thought Cassandra would care a whit what they thought of her. “Please Cassandra, this is important. Can you really not bring yourself to spend an hour or two in his company? I will handle the negotiations, we will try to keep contact between you to the minimum.”

The silence stretched out long enough to be oppressive, before with a defeated sigh Cassandra sank back into her chair, resting her head in her hands. “Why is it that I can never seem to escape them completely?” she murmured. “I ran away to join the Seekers, I left Nevarra, I thought I had cut all my ties to my former life, and yet still they find reach their claws out for me. I curse the day I was born a Pentaghast.”

Josephine’s hand hovered awkwardly above Cassandra’s shoulder, uncertain whether comfort would be gratefully received, and not sure what she should say. It was so hard for her to imagine being at such odds with her own family, infuriating though Yvette could be on occasion, let alone completely casting herself adrift from them. She could imagine no trespass that her beloved sister could commit that she could not bring herself to forgive in time. “I’m sorry,” she settled for repeating, although the words seemed empty and frivolous. “It was not my intent to hurt you.”

“It is not you I am angry with,” the Seeker finally looked up from the table, her fingers restlessly combing through her short hair. Her face was turned in Josephine’s direction but her gaze was far away, somewhere in a distant land and years in the past, old pain etched in the sharp creases of her forehead and the tense set of her shoulders. “Very well, I will meet him, if there is no other way. I make no promises regarding what he might ask of me.”

“Thank you Cassandra, it is much appreciated. The Inquisition-“

“I am not doing this for the Inquisition. Now if you’ll pardon me Lady Montilyet, I think I will turn in for the night.” The warrior rose stiffly, eyes downcast, and even as Josephine mumbled some vague pleasantries as she left the smithy she was gripped by the sudden sense of aching loss of something she wasn’t even sure she’d had in the first place.


	2. The King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Markus arrives at Skyhold, and the price of his favour proves to be somewhat unexpected.

The following morning found Josephine plunged into a frantic burst of activity. There was a suitably worded response to King Markus Pentaghast to draft, and all the arrangements that had to be set in motion for a royal visit, as well as the normal daily tasks of dealing with correspondence and strategic planning with the commander and spymaster. She had done her best to ignore the meaningful looks Leliana kept giving her when she informed the others that the Nevarran monarch would be coming to Skyhold, not sure she wanted to talk about Cassandra’s reaction to the news until she had been able to digest it herself. Besides, Leliana probably knew what it was all about better than she did anyway. She had known Cassandra longer than any of them, and they had worked closely together during their time as the Left and Right Hands of Divine Justinia. Perhaps, she mused, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a quick talk with Leliana after all, before she endangered her friendship with Cassandra more than she had already.

The thought that she might have already inadvertently driven a wedge between them had sat uncomfortably like a lead weight in her stomach all morning, so it was a pleasant surprise when she looked up from finishing a letter to find the Seeker leaning against the door to her office, regarding her with an expression that she would normally have described as ‘bashful’ if it wasn’t so preposterous that an emotion so timid would ever be observed on the face of the stern warrior.

“Lady Cassandra,” she greeted the other formally.

“Josephine… I wanted to apologise. For last night. I… I was rude, and you did not deserve it.” Cassandra dropped into one of the chairs before the ambassadors’ desk, fiddling restlessly with one of the clasps on her gloves. “I realise you were just trying to do your best for the Inquisition.”

“It was never my intent to dredge up old conflicts,” Josephine soothed, trying to hide the wave of giddy relief that had swept over her with the other woman’s awkward apology. “If this will be difficult for you I will do whatever I can to help, you need only ask. Perhaps if I knew the precise nature of the dispute between you-“

Cassandra shook her head decisively, hazel eyes meeting Josephine’s darker ones. “I would like to tell you, one day…. but not now. It is not something that is easy for me to speak of. I don’t believe it is anything that would harm the Inquisition or your diplomatic efforts.”

“Then that is good enough for me.” Josephine dropped her quill into the ink well on her desk and regarded the warrior a moment. “So, if that is sorted, we can discuss dresses. We will all have to look our best for so distinguished a visitor.”

“Maker take me,” Cassandra groaned softly, dropping her head into her hands and missing the impish smile that Josephine tried and failed to suppress.

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

“Relax Josie!” Leliana chided gently as they stood together at the steps of Skyhold’s great hall. “Everything will go to plan, now try to enjoy the evening.”

Josephine nervously smoothed the fabric of her dress and turned to regard her friend, lovely in an elegant gown of deep blue velvet which brought out her colour of her eyes and complimented her red hair. The spymaster looked beautiful with the loose crimson waves framing her delicately pointed face. “You are a vision Leliana. I’m sure you will charm our Nevarran guests.”

“If any of them are under 70,” the other woman shot back. “I hear he has brought his Mortalitasi with him. At least Dorian will enjoy their company. I confess they give me the creeps, and I am not usually bothered by such things”

Josephine worried her teeth with her tongue. “Perhaps we should encourage Dorian, if only to keep them away from Cassandra. I fear this will be trying enough for her. Where is she anyway, she promised she would-“ she turned at the sound of booted feet behind her, to find the warrior had appeared as if summoned by the thought, and her breath caught in her throat.

Despite the teasing, Josephine had swiftly agreed that Cassandra need not wear a dress, despite the minor personal disappointment such a concession had cost. If the negotiations were to go as smoothly as possible she would prefer Cassandra be comfortable and confident. In armour, she could show who she had become, what she had made of herself, what she had achieved despite forsaking the advantage of her family’s wealth and position. Watching her walk towards them, head held high, she knew it had been the right decision.

Clad in the ceremonial armour of the Seekers of Truth, Cassandra looked quite simply stunning. She wore half plate, similar to the garb of the Templars, but fashioned of a much darker metal, while her under-robe was of rich cloth-of-gold. The all-seeing eye of her order shone proudly upon her breast, contrasting strongly against the dark burnished plate, with a sash in the crimson of the chantry tied about her waist. The dark colours accentuated the austere and elegant planes of her face in a way that left Josephine quite unable to form coherent speech.

“Don’t forget to breathe Josie,” Leliana whispered softly into her ear, a mischievous grin upon her lips.

For what seemed like an eternity but was in reality no more than a second, she continued to stare at this beautiful dark-haired knight who held her heart in her grasp without even being aware of it. “You are just in time Cassandra,” she managed to stammer finally. On a sudden instinct she reached out to touch the other woman’s hand reassuringly, brushing her fingers against Cassandra’s, feeling the rasp of sword calluses against her own soft pampered flesh.

“Good. The sooner we get this over with the better.” The Seeker’s voice was admirably level, but the faint responding squeeze of her fingers against Josephine’s betrayed the trepidation she was no doubt feeling. Cassandra’s eyes turned to her own, a smile turning up the corners of her lips. “May I say how fetching you look Lady Montilyet, if it is not too forward of me. I hope my royal cousin appreciates the efforts you have gone to.”

From behind Cassandra’s shoulder, Leliana suddenly winked at her. “I think perhaps Josie wishes to snare herself some Nevarran royalty,” the spymaster teased. 

“Ugh,” Cassandra grunted in disgust. “I have very few relatives with any redeeming features, but none of them in this particular branch of the family. I would strongly advise you to look elsewhere.” The Seeker strode past her unaware that Josephine was struck dumb for the second time, and that Leliana was practically doubled over with laughter. Josephine made sure to accidentally step on the bard’s toe as they made their way towards the approaching royal party.

Markus Pentaghast was at first sight a rather unimpressive figure, despite the opulence of his robes and the heavy golden chain that hung at his neck. He leaned heavily on one of the robed Mortalitasi accompanying him, a cane in the other hand assisting him in remaining upright. But despite his infirmity, his dark eyes were hard and flinty, his gaze calculating as it flickered between the members of the welcoming party, assessing, observing, probing. Rumours of his uncertain mental state notwithstanding, Josephine immediately decided he was not someone to underestimate. At the threshold of the hall the king’s party halted, the other Mortalitasi who was not helping to support the king stepping forward as if to act as an intermediary.

“His Illustrious Royal Majesty Markus Mathas Georg Aegon Nestor Pentaghast, King of Nevarra,” the deathmage announced solemnly.

Josephine cleared her throat nervously and dropped into a deep curtsey. “Welcome to Skyhold, your majesty. We are honoured by your presence. I am Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City, Ambassador of the Inquisition.” She waited a respectable moment with her head lowered, before looking up as the old man nodded in acknowledgement. Josephine wondered idly if there was a rule that all Nevarran nobility had to have five first names, or if it was particular Pentaghast affectation.

“We thank you for our welcome, Lady Montilyet.” His voice was stronger than she’d expected, an undercurrent of steel within it that immediately reminded her of Cassandra. There was a surprising degree of resemblance between them despite the king’s advanced age, although his thinning hair had long since gone past grey into white, they shared the same prominent brows, deep-set copper eyes and strong jawline.

“Majesty, may I present Lord Inquisitor Brandon Tobias Trevelyan, son of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick,” Josephine continued, watching in approval as the inquisitor made an immaculate formal bow, resplendent in his military uniform. His noble upbringing served him well, but he had also been an attentive student to her instructions in etiquette, unlike some of the more _disruptive_ elements of the inner circle. She was thankful the recognition negotiations involved only a few key figures in the inquisition leadership, for the memory of Sera’s introduction at the Winter Palace still occasionally brought her out in a cold sweat. The king’s gaze lingered longer on their leader, and she found herself wondering how exaggerated the tales that had reached Nevarra of his achievements had grown, before the inquisitor was likewise afforded a nod of acknowledgement. The king seemed a man of few words, although she noticed the Mortalitasi whispered amongst themselves, their deep hoods swallowing the words.

“This is Lady Leliana, Seneschal of the Inquisition,” she continued, introducing the spymaster who curtseyed elegantly. Again the old king nodded, although the whispering among the Mortalitasi intensified, one of them openly following Leliana with a speculative regard. It wasn’t so surprising, the legends of Sister Nightingale had been legion during her time at the imperial court in Val Royeaux. With a final intake of breath and whispered imprecations in favour of Cassandra’s patience, she turned to the final member of their party who had yet to be introduced. “I believe your Majesty is acquainted with Lady Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast.”

There are moments in every diplomatic encounter where everything seems to hinge upon that specific instant, the whole course of an evening of debate and counterpoint reduced to a series of miniature skirmishes. Josephine had the skills and experience to recognise such, and perhaps it was her knowledge of the moment’s significance that made it seem as though the whole room grew still and shrank down until the only persons in the room were the monarch and his wayward relative. As Cassandra stepped forward, King Markus made a small beckoning gesture with his fingers and the Seeker went to one knee before him, head bowed like a penitent at prayer. The ambassador was dimly aware of Leliana’s tension beside her, of the Inquisitor watching with a look of faint concern as Cassandra knelt dutifully, her body perfectly still with the discipline instilled by years of martial training.

_Stop it stop it please stop don’t humiliate her please_ …

The king’s face was impassive, carved from stone. The Mortalitasi had stopped their whispering and watched equally intently, faces dark beneath their hooded cowls. In the courtyard a bell chimed, summoning the Andrastian faithful to vespers.

With agonising slowness King Markus extended his right hand, palm down.  Josephine swallowed heavily as Cassandra’s lips brushed the heavy gold ring adorning his middle finger.  The monarch did not withdraw completely, instead the wrinkled flesh grasped the Seeker’s jaw, lifting her chin, thumb tracing the deep scar that marred her cheek. Something passed between them, a glance, an understanding, a reckoning, a soft murmur in their native tongue too low to be audible to anyone else in the room.

“We are pleased to meet you all,” the king finally intoned as Josephine released a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. “Let us proceed, for we have much to discuss.”

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

Josephine was many things, but one thing she was not was unrealistic about her own abilities. It was unseemly to be too puffed up with pride, but she knew she was good at her job. Amongst her many talents, she had always possessed great skill in judging how delicate negotiations were going and how a decision might fall. All the words, the impassioned speeches, the muttered asides, the furrowing of an eyebrow or the quirk of lips, all subconsciously taken in and processed without her scarcely being aware of it, tilting the balance she could almost see in her head, which way the scales hung, where weight needed to be applied, what form and quantity it should take. This was her battlefield, and she fought with as much skill and ferocity as Cassandra or Cullen did on theirs.

Her instincts told her that so far, it had all been too easy. She had patiently outlined the Inquisition’s proposals, with occasional comments from the Inquisitor or Leliana, and the king had made no objection. The Mortalitasi interjected from time to time with requests for clarification, but there were no raised eyebrows or protests, no exclamations of outrage as she explained the Inquisition’s desire for freedom for their armies to engage the forces of Corypheus on Nevarran soil without prior approval from the monarch. Surely King Markus would expect a heavy price for such compliance. She was sure Leliana could feel it too, accustomed as she was to the cut and thrust of the Game.

She sneaked a glance at Cassandra, who sat quietly brooding next to Leliana. So far she had yet to say anything, but Josephine could tell from the minute movements of her eyes that she was paying attention. Her expression gave little away, studiously impassive for once, but from her vantage point the ambassador could spot the occasional reflexive drumming of her fingers on her thigh that testified to how tightly her volatile temper was being kept leashed.

A vigorous throat-clearing from the Nevarran monarch brought her attention snapping back to the royal party seated on the opposite side of the table. “We have heard your position, Madame Ambassador.” King Markus’ piercing, hawk like gaze settled upon her, the faintest hint of a cruel smile twisting the corner of his lips. “Now, you will hear what the Inquisition can do for Nevarra.” With a slight incline of his head, the king gestured to one of the Mortalitasi.

“As you are no doubt aware,” the death mage began, his voice thin and reedy, “His Majesty is somewhat advanced in years, and his attention must inevitably turn to the succession. His Majesty has no heir, and his younger brother has neither heir of his own nor interest in ruling. There are many more distant relatives who if given the opportunity would seize the chance to vie for the throne, not to mention others outside the Pentaghast line such as the Van Markhams. The situation is delicate, with no clear favourite, and there is a good chance of unrest or even violence. Given the threats of these Venatori and the likelihood of Tevinter involvement, I’m sure you will agree that it is in the best interests of your Inquisition that Nevarra remains stable and strong, and the best hope of that is to unite the country under renewed Pentaghast rule.”

Josephine took a moment to gather her thoughts, slightly surprised by the direction of the conversation, but confident she had prepared enough to avoid a misstep. “I agree, that we do not want to see unrest, or Maker forbid civil war in Nevarra, but I fail to see how we can interfere in such an internal matter. Are you asking for the inquisition to endorse one of the potential candidates to the succession?”

“That would go some way to satisfying an alliance between us,” the king interjected, leaning forward in his seat, “but we had something more in mind. A public endorsement by the inquisitor would still be most helpful, but given the goodwill the inquisition currently enjoys with the population, we feel a marriage alliance with our preferred candidate would be, shall we say, more… _powerful_.”

So there it was. Josephine glanced from Leliana to the Inquisitor, back to Cassandra who was now staring at the king with an expression of barely disguised loathing.  “Majesty… while we are sympathetic to your position and eager to assist, my Lord Inquisitor is already promised to another. I’m sure you would not wish to deal with the implications of breaking a pre-existing contract.”

Markus’ lip curled in a faint sneer. “Oh, it was not the inquisitor that we had in mind, we would not dream of impinging upon his existing arrangements. “We thought actually of our cousin. She is unwed after all and of our blood, what could be a more potent gesture to the Nevarran people than uniting two branches of our glorious family? Ideally she would be a little younger, that she might bear him a child, but it is of no matter. He already has a bastard with Pentaghast blood. It is a generous compliment to your Inquisition’s standing that we are prepared to overlook her sire’s transgressions, grievous as they were. “

With a loud crash Cassandra practically exploded from her chair, leaning across the table until her face was mere inches from the king’s. “What will you do if I refuse? Have me executed as well? You are a _monster._ ”

“And _you_ are a traitor to your order, the daughter of a traitor to your own king, declared a heretic by the chantry, clinging to the coat-tails of the Lord Inquisitor. I would consider our offer very carefully if I were you, _cousin._ ”

Josephine watched in despair as the Seeker merely stared at her relative, her shoulders knotted with tension, hands clenched in fists on the table, before abruptly stalking out of the room, the door crashing shut behind her. She should have been contemplating how to soothe the situation and rescue the treaty, but she could not think past the awful feeling of betrayal. _She_ had invited this man here, this was her doing, and she had hurt Cassandra.

As Varric would no doubt have pithily observed, _well, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written prior to the information revealed about Cassandra in the second volume of The World of Thedas, so evidently isn't canon-compliant.


	3. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine learns some things about Cassandra she did not know, and inadvertently reveals her feelings.

Given the chance, Josephine would have liked to have followed Cassandra straight away, to try to apologise, or offer comfort, whatever might make up for making her agree to this farce, but it took longer than she would have liked to soothe the Nevarran king’s ruffled feathers and try to convince him that the negotiations could be rescued. Her task was made all the harder by the conflict between the part of her that felt guilty and empathised with Cassandra’s anger and could no longer spare an ounce of care for the fate of the treaty, and the dutiful, professional part of her that was horrified by such indifference to something that was of considerable importance to the Inquisition. Finally, after a great deal of thinking on her feet, ably abetted by Leliana, she managed to persuade Markus to adjourn the discussions until the following day. She didn’t hold out any great hope that anything would come of them, but at least it gave her time to try to come up with some kind of idea to rescue the situation.

“Well, that was not quite how I thought the talks were going to go,” the Inquisitor mused idly as the Nevarran entourage left. “I know how thorough you are Josephine, so I won’t ask if there was any way we could have seen _that_ coming.”

“I agree, it is not your fault,” Leliana gave her a tight smile. “I will confer with my best agents, see if there is any influence we can bring to bear or any secrets we could make use of. King Markus must have a weakness somewhere we can exploit.” She moved closer, her words pitched lower for the ambassador’s ears alone. “Go to her, I think she could really use a friend right now.”

Josephine scrubbed at her eyes, waves of fatigue making themselves known. “I’m not sure she will want to talk to me right now.”

The bard’s hand was warm where it took one of her own, thumbs brushing gently over her knuckles. “Josephine, listen to me. You didn’t intend this, and no one is to blame other than that horrible vindictive man - it’s hard to believe someone as honourable as Cassandra could be related to him.  Cassandra does not have many friends, but she has come to consider you one of them, and right now she needs you.” Leliana’s lips curled upward in a slight smile. “Besides, if you are seriously contemplating having a relationship with Cassandra, you will have to get used to this sort of thing. She wasn’t wearing her sword, but you might want to watch out for other flying objects.”

A faint snort of laughter escaped despite her best efforts, and oddly enough she did feel better. “Leliana, I’m sure it has not escaped your all-knowing gaze that she sleeps in the _smithy_. Somehow I doubt she will have a shortage of weapons on hand.”

“Well, in that case it’s a good job you are a fine dancer Josie. What’s that phrase you like to remind me of from time to time? _Niceness before knives_ , no?” The spymaster whirled off, chuckling slightly at her own humour, leaving Josephine to steel herself to face the disgruntled warrior.

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

The smithy was dark and quiet, only a faint residual red glow from the dying embers offered any illumination. Josephine cursed softly in Antivan as she tripped over a crate of ingots near the door, and stopped for a moment to soothe her bruised toes. She had been about to leave when in the quiet she heard a faint noise. Josephine picked her way gingerly through the obstacles on the ground floor, mindful of the racks of weapons, ears straining for a recurrence of the sound she thought she’d heard. She had just reached the foot of the stairs to the landing when she heard it again from somewhere above her, a soft muffled sound as if someone was stifling a sob.

“Cassandra?” she called out gently. “Are you here? It’s Josephine,” she added somewhat unnecessarily. What little light there was barely penetrated to the back of the room and she gripped the bannister carefully, grateful she had had the foresight to bring a lantern with her. The landing was devoid of any signs of her quarry, only a quill and inkwell and a few scattered papers lying on the table, so she continued to ascend the second flight of stairs to the loft above. Despite the situation she couldn’t help a little curiosity as she realised she had never actually been up to this level.

It did not take long to spot Cassandra. She sat at the far end of the narrow space, legs tucked up to her chest with her head resting on her knees. Josephine felt a wave of sadness seeing the proud, strong woman reduced to such apparent despair.  “Cassandra?” she said softly, not wishing to startle her as she continued to approach.  The warrior’s shoulders shook, her hands clenching in fists and unclenching as she wept virtually silently.

Setting her lantern on a nearby stool, Josephine lowered herself to sit beside the other woman on what she realised was Cassandra’s bedroll. When Cassandra did not react to her presence, she leaned closer and gently guided the other woman’s head onto her shoulder, combing her fingers through short raven locks. She didn’t say anything, knowing Cassandra would not value meaningless platitudes. The warmth of her embrace as she wrapped her arms around Cassandra’s shoulders, the solidity of her shoulder to lean on, the silence  devoid of judgement or chastisement, these would have to be her words for now, would have to suffice to speak her regret and sadness that she had caused this hurt.

“He forced us to watch.”

Josephine had almost fallen into a semi-meditative state in the quiet and the dark and it took her a moment to realise Cassandra had spoken, although her voice was so low and hoarse it was barely audible even in the silence of the smithy.

“Anthony tried to shield my eyes, but the soldiers stopped him. One of them grabbed my head so I couldn’t look away, he said he had orders from the king.” Cassandra’s shoulders trembled beneath Josephine’s arms and she felt the warmth of tears where the warrior’s face rested against her neck. “Afterwards, we were made to kneel before the king and thank him for his mercy. I got blood on my clothes from where it ran across the floor.”

Something twisted in Josephine’s gut with the warrior’s words, the slow, almost puzzled intonation. She knew Cassandra had been orphaned at a young age but had never wanted to probe too deeply into the details, fearing dredging up bad memories. Now she wished she could go back in time, wished she’d talked to Cassandra beforehand, found out the reason behind her estrangement from her family so she need never have brought the man who had caused her this pain to Skyhold.

“It’s funny that I can remember so many details from that day, the blood, the sound the headman’s sword made, the way the king looked at me, but I can’t remember my father’s face or the sound of my mother’s voice. In Nevarra, when someone is executed for treason it is as if they are erased from history. Their possessions are confiscated, all portraits of them are burned, and their bodies are cremated instead of being interred in a crypt. I had no mementoes to remember them by, and every time I realise I can’t recall them I feel like I have lost them all over again.”

“Oh Cassandra… I’m so sorry,” Josephine gathered the other woman tighter to her, pulling her into a fierce embrace. “I didn’t know… if I had I would never have let him come here.”

 “No, I should have told you before.” Cassandra sighed heavily. “I thought I could handle it, I thought he just wanted another chance to rub my nose in it. You’ve worked so hard on this treaty Josephine, and I’ve put it all in jeopardy.  It seems I am doomed to never learn from my mistakes, the same one I made with Varric. I should not be here… I should leave before I cause more harm to the Inquisition.”

“No! You can’t leave Cassandra. The Inquisition needs you… _I_ need you.”

The words were out before she could even process what she had said. Cassandra shifted in her arms and tilted her head to meet Josephine’s suddenly fearful gaze, hazel eyes holding darker brown ones, the air heavy with the weight of words said and those she still yearned to say.

“Josephine… “ Cassandra began, averting her gaze and pulling away slighty,  “you… you cannot… “. Her words were accompanied by a twisting of her hands together which seemed to mirror the knot in her tongue.

Making a conscious effort to still the pounding of her heart caused by her inadvertent admission, Josephine reached for Cassandra’s hands, clasping them in her own. She wasn’t sure she could have chosen a worse time for this conversation, but there was nothing to be gained in dissembling now.  Cassandra was not just a Seeker of Truth by calling, it was infused through her very soul, branded upon her bones, and as such she prized honesty above all things. Josephine owed her nothing less than to lay her heart before her.

“This was not quite the way I had planned to reveal it, but I have come to care for you, deeply. Is it truly such an awful prospect that I might have feelings for you?”

“Yes… I mean no - Maker’s breath!” Cassandra blew out a breath in frustration, sending raven strands dancing across her forehead. “I am a warrior. I am blunt and difficult and self-righteous. You are a fine lady, who weaves beautiful words and charms people. You are as at home in a ballroom as I am on a battlefield. How can you love me when I am so terrible at the things that are important to you, so uncomfortable in the world you are happiest in?”

For once, Josephine was the one lost for words. All the times she had imagined confessing her feelings for Cassandra, and it had never once occurred to her that the other woman might actually somehow feel _inferior_. _Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogeria Filomena Pentaghast, a Seeker of Truth, the Hero of Orlais, the right hand of not one but two divines_ , and here she was with her eyes downcast like a stableboy caught setting his cap at the lady of the manor. It almost made her want to laugh with the absurdity of it, but she sensed it would be a very, very wrong thing to do at this moment. She schooled her features into the serene calm she employed in the most difficult diplomatic standoffs.

“Cassandra… look at me, please. Yes, you are those things, but that is not all you are. I see a heart that lies beneath all that, that yearns for more, for things you think you cannot have, things you think you do not deserve. I would give you that and more, if you will only let me.”

The subtle play of emotions across Cassandra’s face as she digested Josephine’s words was fascinating to observe, the inner conflict played out in the furrowing of her brow, teeth that worried at her lower lip, a widening of those copper eyes, the sorrow of earlier replaced with a different intensity. Was it just her imagination that her expression seemed softened?

“I… I have only been with one other before,” the warrior sighed softly. “A mage, with whom I adventured when I was still very young. He was dashing and charming and quite unlike any other man I had met. I loved him deeply, and I could not imagine ever leaving his side. But, a circle mage and a Seeker of Truth, it was difficult, even scandalous as I’m sure you can imagine. Even without the opposition we faced, my duties demanded that we spent much time apart. We tried, but even with the love we felt for each other, it was not _enough_.” Her gaze dropped once more to her hands, but she did not pull them from Josephine’s grasp.

Josephine stilled at this admission, not accustomed to such frankness from Cassandra, and its implications. Oh certainly she had suspected Cassandra did not have an extensive romantic history, and that she was not the sort to take a lover purely for physical satisfaction, but, well, was it nothing but pure arrogance on her part to think she could interest someone who clearly had such high standards?

“The mage… I take it you are no longer together. I don’t wish to pry…” Josephine probed gently when Cassandra did not continue speaking. She felt as if she was on the verge of wringing some significant truth from the other woman, but as skittish as Cassandra could be when talking of personal matters, it was hard to know how best to steer the conversation.

“He died at the Conclave.”

_Oh sweet Maker… I had to ask._ How many losses did one person have it in them to bear? Josephine supposed she was fortunate to have not known what it was like to lose someone so close, and it only added to her admiration for the woman before her. So many taken from her, so much pain and sorrow, and yet in those confused days after the opening of the Breach, when everyone had been half crazed with grief and anger, Cassandra had been the rock they had all leaned on. They had all selfishly drawn from her strength, giving little thought to its succour.

“It is alright Josephine, what we had ended years ago, although I am sorry that he is gone. Since we parted, I have had no interest in casual dalliances. Perhaps I am foolish and naïve, to hold out for an ideal, for someone who will sweep me off my feet and read me poetry by candlelight, but I have always sought in everything I do to give all that I have, all that I am, and in return I cannot settle for less, I would prefer to be alone than be with someone who does not love me the same way in return.”

Cassandra’s head tilted down with this admission, her gaze averted as if ashamed, and it almost made Josephine want to scream. What had the world done to make Cassandra feel embarrassed of wanting to be loved in this way, to feel she had to hide away a part of herself from mockery or rejection. They were still so close together in the little loft space, Josephine barely had to reach out to cup Cassandra’s jaw in one slightly shaky hand, thumb brushing over her cheek. “Don’t you think I could be that person Cassandra? Are you not willing to let me try?”

“I… I don’t know. Perhaps.” Cassandra’s eyes searched hers, as if trying to discern some secret in her gaze. “It’s just… been so long, and I have never been with a woman before. I…. I am afraid.”

For some reason, this admission above all else that Cassandra had revealed this evening moved her greatly. Josephine felt a rush of tenderness for her brave, stubborn knight, who would boldly slay dragons and demons, but quailed at trusting her heart to another.  “You’ve never struck me as a woman who is afraid of many things,” her fingers stroked further along the underside of Cassandra’s jaw, pressing into the small hollow beneath her ear lobe.

“Maggots. And horses.”

Josephine felt the wry twist of her lips in the movement of skin beneath her thumb. “And yet you ride most days. You are a woman who faces her fears head-on, who does not allow them to govern her. You are the bravest person I know.” Cassandra’s cheeks were surprisingly soft, and she raised her other hand to cup the side of her face, tracing those sharp, aristocratic cheekbones. Cassandra watched her with silent intensity, eyes dark, as she slowly brought her lips down towards hers, pausing so close they are almost sharing the same breath. “May I?”

Cassandra nodded mutely, her pulse strong beneath Josephine’s fingertips as she closed the last distance between them until their mouths met in a lingering fusion of lips and breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've used a some of the in-game romance dialogue, twisted around a little, because I really liked some of Cassandra's romance lines, the way she pretty much tells the inquisitor 'Look this is who I am, this is what I want, deal with it if you want a relationship with me'. It's so very true to her character.


	4. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine and Cassandra share some intimate moments, and Cassandra reveals some of the ghosts from her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some fairly explicit sexual content.

She had intended it to be no more than a gentle, if heartfelt, kiss, but her resolve and intentions were swiftly undone when she felt Cassandra responding with far more ardour than she might have expected. The warrior’s fingers twined in the small loose hairs at the nape of her neck as her mouth opened beneath the pressure of Josephine’s lips, their tongues tangling softly, probing, tasting. A sharp, prickly heat began to build in Josephine’s core, spreading out to trace fire through quivering limbs, igniting the raw desire that slumbered beneath her polished manners. She had wanted this, imagined it for so long through many lonely nights, and yet still the part of her, so useful for her diplomatic work, that analysed people and emotions tried to insist that this was not fair, that she was taking advantage of Cassandra’s disturbed emotional state. With an almost physical pang of loss she finally broke the kiss, although she could bear no more than to ease their lips apart to draw breath, her forehead resting against Cassandra’s.

“Cassandra,” she breathed softly, trembling at the dark desire she saw in the other woman’s eyes. “Are you sure about this? You have been upset, and it would be more than I could bear to lead you into something you would later regret.”

A calloused finger traced her lips, a strong arm holding her in place preventing any motion to draw further apart. “Dearest Josephine, always so concerned with other’s feelings. You are more precious than you know.” There was a tenderness in Cassandra’s voice, the words hanging in the air and settling onto Josephine’s skin with the weight of a lover’s caress. “I am not a woman who is easily led anywhere I do not wish to go.” She swallowed heavily, her fingers tightening their grasp upon Josephine’s neck. “Please… I do not think I can bear to be alone tonight.”

Josephine kissed her again by way of reply, twining her fingers in Cassandra’s hair with growing confidence. The other woman kissed her back with a single-minded focus Josephine had only seen before in her swordplay, her tongue demanding and insistent, searching, seeking. Her fingers slid around from Josephine’s neck to cradle her face, calloused fingertips skimming over her cheekbones, eyebrows, temples as if committing the contours of it to memory. Josephine nipped gently at her lips as Cassandra drew breath, drawing a soft, needy noise from the warrior’s throat that only intensified the warmth pooling between her legs and temporarily hindered her ability to form coherent speech.

Having been very much the initiator in this budding encounter, Josephine was surprised when with an abrupt movement Cassandra pushed her back against the blankets, rising over her so that a strong leg nestled between her thighs. The seeker stared down at her, her dark gaze pinning Josephine in place just as surely as the weight of her body, a storm building in her eyes. This was what Josephine wanted, to feel her fire, to meet her strength and temper it with her softness, to yield.

“I want to see you,” Cassandra growled, her accent thickened with desire. She lowered her head to Josephine’s neck, kissing slowly down to her collarbone, first tenderly, then nipping at the soft flesh with her teeth, sending shudders down Josephine’s spine. Long fingers deftly untied the laces of Josephine’s bodice, pushing the material aside to bare her shoulders, the revealed flesh swiftly claimed by the Seeker’s roaming lips.

Fearing the warrior’s impatience with the many intricate (and delicate) fastenings of her dress, Josephine broke free of Cassandra’s embrace long enough to divest herself of the garment, turning back to find her gazing at her with an expression of wonder.

“You are so beautiful Josephine,” Cassandra’s voice sharpened to a command. “Come back here.”

Instinctively Josephine obeyed, tugged swiftly back down to the bedroll and rolled beneath the warrior. Cassandra’s hands skimmed over her flesh, shaping the lines of her shoulders, cupping her breasts, tracing the width of her hips, all the while she murmured in Josephine’s ear, telling her how much she liked what she saw and felt. Josephine felt _worshipped_ , Cassandra’s touch as slow and reverent as her fingers when tracing the pages of a prayer book, her voice the low, solemn tones with which she recited the Chant of Light. Cassandra’s sheer joy in Josephine’s body was honest and earnest in a way that threatened to undo her, accustomed as she was to the frequently insincere flatteries of the Game.

Josephine opened her mouth to protest the disparity in their levels of clothing, but before she could barely get a word out her words were flung to the winds as Cassandra’s mouth closed over one nipple, sucking it gently to a point then swirling her tongue over the hardened peak, worrying it with her teeth in a way that had Josephine cursing filthily in Antivan. It only seemed to encourage the warrior more as she continued to lavish attention on the neglected counterpart, wringing more gasps and curses from Josephine. She felt ripe and heavy with desire, every touch and caress sparking fresh heat and wetness between her legs and building a need which demanded release.

Cassandra clearly had her own agenda for Josephine’s pleasure, setting her own pace and ignoring all Josephine’s attempts to reciprocate her attentions, kissing slowly and thoroughly down the length of her body to where Josephine desperately wanted her, occasionally regarding her with dark eyes, something bold and territorial and thrilling in her gaze. She had witnessed Cassandra fighting in anger only once, during the desperate defence of Haven, but she wore something of the same look now, a hawkish concentration, a fierceness in the set of her shoulders and the intent furrow of her brows.

“Cassandra… _oh_!” Josephine barely recognised her own voice, rising bright like steel, as Cassandra finally settled herself between Josephine’s legs, long fingers splayed against her hip and the curve of her rump to hold her close, preventing any escape from the delicious torment she began to inflict with an unexpectedly skilled tongue. She was gentle at first, tasting, exploring, learning the places that made Josephine gasp and shiver and thread shaking fingers through Cassandra’s hair, but as Josephine adjusted to the sensations her lips closed more firmly over the swollen bud at her centre, sucking and tugging, then rasping her tongue against the sensitive flesh. Now she was merciless, and it burned like a sweet fire that had Josephine crying out far more wantonly than was strictly proper as the pleasure crested suddenly, leaving her shuddering and breathless in sweet surrender.

Josephine lay loose-limbed and thoroughly undone, and watched Cassandra through half-lidded eyes as that strange intent expression gave way to an unexpected achingly shy smile. Crawling languidly back up Josephine’s body, the warrior paused to shrug off her tunic and smallclothes with no particular ceremony and pulled the blankets around them, propping herself up on one elbow as she idly twined loose strands of Josephine’s hair through her fingers. She seemed to want to say something, and Josephine was content to let her hunt for words as slowly breath and sense returned to her.

“Thank you… for earlier. It has been a long time since I spoke about my family to anyone. I’ve never believed that talking about things necessarily helps, but you are a good listener. Sometimes I forget that there are people I can trust.”

Josephine tugged at the arm that supported her weight, toppling them together, and kissed Cassandra quite slowly and thoroughly. “You can trust _me_ ,” she whispered, her words for the two of them alone, yet spoken with the weight of a solemn vow in the silence of the smithy.

“Here, tonight, I believe you.”

Josephine was barely aware of anything beyond the pleasant, sated fog that seemed to have crept over her thoughts and the warm solidity of Cassandra’s body against hers as she drifted into a contented sleep.

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

Josephine was momentarily disoriented to awake not in her familiar bed, even more so by the unexpected sensation of a warm body tangled with hers. Cassandra was spooned up against her back, her soft breath stirring the hairs on the nape of Josephine’s neck, a bold hand resting against the curve of her breast, long limbs twined with Josephine’s shorter ones. For a moment Josephine enjoyed the closeness, a warmth suffusing her body as she recalled the events of the evening, but her pleasant reminiscence was disturbed by the sudden agitated twitching of the arms that enveloped her and the sound of incoherent mumbles into her skin.

She turned carefully in the slumbering warrior’s embrace and saw the way Cassandra’s eyes roamed restlessly beneath their lids, her fingers clenching into fists. She muttered something again, her accent thick with sleep and voice tinged with sadness, but this time Josephine could make out at least one word. _Anthony_.

Josephine had never been quite sure whether you were supposed to wake up someone who was having a nightmare, it wasn’t something she had a great deal of practical experience with. She settled for pulling Cassandra to her, tucking the warrior’s head against her breast, with one hand gently stroking her hair while the other rubbed soothing circles on her back. Under other circumstances she might have found it quite pleasant, the soft spikes of Cassandra’s short hair tickling underneath her chin, the scent of smoke, vanilla and jasmine that clung to her skin, and the feel of the corded muscle of her shoulders under Josephine’s fingers, but Cassandra’s distress was palpable, the thrashing of her limbs becoming more violent as she called the same name over and over. Without warning she abruptly catapulted herself upright, chest heaving, her breath coming in shuddering gasps as she stared at Josephine, expression bereft.

“You were dreaming,” Josephine carefully placed a hand against Cassandra’s shoulder to guide her back down to the blankets, feeling her trembling violently, muscles thrumming with tension as she sought a tangible enemy she could confront. “You called out for Anthony.”

“Maker preserve me,” Cassandra put her head in her hands. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Is this a regular thing?” Josephine asked, concerned.

“Not usually – not any more, although such dreams plagued me for a long time after Anthony’s death. I suppose with everything that’s happened today it brought the memories back afresh.”

Josephine pondered carefully how to phrase her next question. “Cassandra… the things we spoke about before, your parents… did you ever have anyone to talk to about it?”

Cassandra gave her a slightly quizzical look, twisting her fingers together in a gesture Josephine had come to realise indicated nervousness or uncertainty. “Not really, other than Anthony.”

She had to step carefully, Cassandra would doubtless not appreciate any suggestion of weakness. “It seems to me as though you suffered a great deal of trauma and loss at a young age. Such a burden would crush many, it is quite extraordinary that you have coped with it as well as you have, but perhaps some of the pain lingers because you have never really had anyone to help you deal with it. If you wish to talk about Anthony… I will listen.”

“That is kind of you Josephine, but you have already spent far too long listening to my childhood woes.”

Had she not spent so much time surreptitiously studying her mannerisms, Josephine might have allowed Cassandra’s slightly acerbic tone to put her off, but she could see the conflict between her instinct to resort to the anger that served her so often as both weapon and shield, and her need to open up to someone. “I meant what I said earlier, I care for you, very much. You can take as much of my time as you need. Now… are you going to get back into bed and let me pull those blankets back up before we both freeze?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, but there was no heat in the gesture, and she allowed Josephine to pull her close once more, content to nestle her head against Josephine’s shoulder. For a while she was silent and still, and Josephine thought she had gone back to sleep, but then she sighed softly, idly tracing one fingertip up Josephine’s stomach.

“You know that Anthony was my older brother. Although there were quite a few years between us, we were very close. After our parents were gone, he was all that I had left and I adored him, idolised him.”

“How old were you then, if you don’t mind me asking?” Josephine queried, smoothing errant strands of Cassandra’s braid.

“I was three years old, Anthony would have been 14, almost 15.” Cassandra chuckled slightly at Josephine’s expression, mirth overcoming sadness for a moment. “Anthony told me my mother used to call me her little surprise. I don’t think my birth was exactly planned… in more ways than one.”

“Oh? I sense a story there.”

Josephine felt Cassandra’s amused shrug. “It’s not that exciting. My parents went to visit some relatives in Val Chevin while my mother was heavily pregnant, but she was not expected to go into labour for a few more weeks yet. It seems I had other ideas though, so according to Anthony I was delivered on the floor of the carriage as they travelled back to Cumberland.”

“You just had to be special, didn’t you?” Josephine grinned. “You really can’t do _anything_ like an ordinary person.”

Cassandra’s smile faded, became something more contemplative. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I could have just settled for an ordinary life, married to some other noble with three children. Perhaps I would have become like so many of the other Pentaghasts, fat and lazy and complacent, content to live off past glories, not seeing the stagnation and decay around me.”

“They can’t all be that bad, surely?” Josephine ventured.

“Oh, they are, believe me. Well, most of them anyway. I suppose that was one of the reasons I loved Anthony so much, apart from the fact he was my brother. He was what a Pentaghast should be, handsome, strong and brave, but kind and gentle to others. He had taken up the old family tradition of dragon hunting and he promised me that when I was old enough he would train me to be a dragon hunter as well. We were going to be a famous brother and sister dragon slaying team like something out of the legends of Caspar the Magnificent. I suppose it all sounds like a silly childhood fantasy now.” Cassandra hid her face in Josephine’s neck, choking back fresh tears, and she hugged the warrior more tightly to her, murmuring soothing nothings against her ear until she regained her composure.

“We don’t have to speak of him, if it pains you.”

Cassandra sniffled in a way that was so un-Cassandra like that Josephine thought her heart might break, but she visibly gathered herself, turning to press a gentle kiss to Josephine’s jaw. “It does… but there are good memories too. If I never thought of him to avoid the pain, I would not remember the times when we were happy, and then I would truly have lost him.”

“Did Anthony raise you, after your parents were gone?” Josephine enquired carefully.

“No, we lived with our uncle, Vestalus. He is a Mortalitasi, he oversees the Grand Necropolis. Perhaps you know of them, or perhaps not, it seems everyone outside Nevarra has some very strange ideas about the Mortalitasi.”

“It is true,” Josephine chuckled, “I have heard some wild tales spread about them, but of course it is part of my duties as a diplomat to be knowledgeable about other cultures, so I have made efforts to be better educated about them. One cannot truly understand how the Nevarran court functions without knowing of the Mortalitasi.”

“I have never understood my homeland’s fascination with the dead,” Cassandra made a little sound of distaste, and Josephine could feel her shudder slightly, the sensation causing a delicious friction of skin against skin. “Sometimes I feel they care more for the departed than the living. My uncle is not as bad as some of them, and it is to his credit that he has little interest in the machinations of those of his order who vie to surround the king and whisper in his ear, but he was not the most attentive of guardians. He is a kind enough man, and I suppose in his own way he tried to be a good uncle, but I don’t think he ever really _knew_ me. To him I was someone who had to be dressed up in finery and protected from everything like some sort of porcelain doll, when I all I wanted was for someone to hug me when I missed my mother’s touch or the safety of my father’s arms. Had it not been for Anthony, I think I would have lost my mind.  He always found ways to sneak me out of the house so he could teach me sword fighting, or go swimming, or just tell me stories,” Cassandra sighed quietly, a wistful note to her voice Josephine had rarely heard. “He used to tell the most amazing stories, he would do all the different voices, and if they ever frightened me he would sit at the side of my bed until I fell asleep.”

Josephine smiled softly. “I used to do the same with Yvette, my younger sister, right up until I left to go to Orlais. I miss sitting up half the night with her spinning wild tales.”

Cassandra had been idly stroking Josephine’s side but abruptly she stilled, fingers digging in tightly. “You were irritated with her at the Winter Palace for telling us things about you as a child, it made me sad, even though I knew you weren’t really annoyed with her.” She rose up, propping herself on one elbow, skewering Josephine with a piercing gaze. “You should cherish every chance you get to spend time with her. We never think that those we love can be taken from us, but often the Maker is cruel. He has taken so many from me.”

“Oh Cassandra, I didn’t mean to make you sad again,” Josephine curled her fingers under Cassandra’s jaw, gently rubbing her cheek with her thumb.

“It is fine, Josephine. It is perhaps best that I tell you everything, and see if the telling helps. Even if it does not, well, it will save me from speaking of it again.” Cassandra half-smiled to take any sting from the words, burrowing a little closer to Josephine, trailing fingers across her midriff. “Well, for a few years, things were relatively peaceful, my uncle tried to get me to wear dresses and learn all sorts of things fitting for a young noble lady, while I did my best to thwart his plans to find me a suitable husband by generally behaving disgracefully, and Anthony found the whole thing endlessly amusing. Of course he wasn’t spared from my uncle’s matchmaking efforts either, but then Anthony could charm the birds from the trees when he wished, so for him it was not so much of an ordeal.  He had no shortage of admirers either, his renown as a dragon hunter had begun to spread, but it drew more than just pretty girls his way.”

“What happened,” Josephine prompted, sensing from the thickening of Cassandra’s voice that the next part of the story was a difficult one. The warrior was entwined so closely against her that she could feel even the slightest minute tells of her emotions, slight changes in the rhythm of her breathing or an increase in the tension in her shoulders.

“Blood mages.” The two simple words were spat out almost like a curse, as if no further explanation was needed. “They wanted dragon blood to use in their rituals, and so they came to Anthony to get it. They asked him to hunt a dragon for them, and when he refused, they came and hunted him instead.” The trembling in Cassandra’s limbs had intensified, and for a moment she could not continue. “I watched a mage cut him down before my eyes.”

It was another moment where Josephine sensed that words of sympathy would be painfully inadequate, so once more she settled for silently communicating her support, holding Cassandra as close as she possibly could and kissing the top of her head. She was beginning to realise just how much Cassandra had been shaped by these losses, how they had both strengthened her and weakened her. Truly she had endured more loss than any person had a right to bear, had hidden away the vulnerable parts of her that still yearned for love and romance behind impenetrable armour of duty and resolve, and Josephine could still not quite believe that Cassandra had allowed her of all people to see what lay beneath. She was intensely aware of the fragility of their new relationship and determined to justify the enormous trust the warrior had placed in her.

“After he was gone,” Cassandra eventually continued when she had gathered her composure, “there was nothing left for me in Nevarra anymore. I was consumed with the desire for vengeance, so I begged to be allowed to join the Templars. My uncle refused, so I ran away, and I never looked back. The Chantry saw something in me, I don’t to this day know what, and sent me to the Seekers of Truth for training instead. I was … I was very angry then, Josephine, and left to my own devices I would have allowed that anger to consume me. Fortunately, Byron, my mentor in the Seekers, was a very wise man. He saw what others did not, that the anger would always be part of me, that it was not something I could easily set aside, and instead he helped me to harness and control it, to use it for good rather than self-destruction.”

“He sounds like a good man,” Josephine observed, watching Cassandra’s lips soften into a smile at a pleasant memory.

“He was, he was everything a Seeker of Truth should be. Seeker training is very long and arduous, I was seven years old when I became Byron’s apprentice and it was not until my eighteenth year that I completed my vigil and became a full Seeker myself, so we spent many years together. I suppose he was the closest thing to a father I ever had, he was a hard taskmaster and always demanded much of me, but he was also kind and gentle, and loved me like I was his own daughter. I still miss him very much, although I am glad he did not live to see the travesty the order he loved so much has become.” Cassandra shifted position, pulling herself up and turning so that she was looking right into Josephine’s eyes. “I tell you all this, because I want you to understand something about me. I know I am not the easiest person to live with. Even now, I let my temper get the better of me far too often. I do not have the command of words that you do, and people often misconstrue my meaning. There will be times when I will seem harsh or cruel. I am what I am, and I make no apologies for it, but I wish to be more. _You_ make me wish to be more, to be better.”

Josephine searched the warrior’s face for a moment, drinking in the deep dark of her eyes in the faint candlelight, the way her teeth anxiously worried her lower lip. “You do not need to be other than you are for me Cassandra. You are quite perfect as you are.” With a mischievous grin tugging at her lips, Josephine gently pushed her onto her back, rising above her. “Perhaps I am to blame if you are not convinced, since I rather ill-manneredly fell asleep on you earlier before I could fully show you.”

“Did you have something in mind, Lady Josephine?” Cassandra’s voice was admirably level, as rich and dark as the finest Antivan brandy.

“Oh yes,” Josephine promised. “I have _many_ things I wish to show you.”

Josephine briefly savoured the way Cassandra’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly at her statement, the slight hitch to her breath as she followed it up with a teasing kiss. It was tempting, oh so tempting, to linger against her lips, but now that she finally had her chance Josephine fully intended to explore every inch of Cassandra’s body and discover its secrets.

“Turn over,” she instructed quietly, melding their bodies back together when the warrior complied. The single lantern did not give much illumination, but it was enough to appreciate the long curve of Cassandra’s back and the coiled strength that lay in the smoothly defined muscles of her neck, shoulders and biceps. She kissed softly along the side of Cassandra’s neck, tugging at the lobe of her ear with her teeth, while with her fingertips she traced the scars that marked the path of her life, battles fought and won, and each a record of all that had brought Cassandra to this moment, to her.

“Now you see at least one of the reasons why I do not like to wear dresses,” Cassandra murmured drily, her voice half-muffled by the pillow.

“I did not figure you for the vain sort Cassandra,” Josephine teased, and then deliberately pressed kisses to each and every mark and weal. “You should not be ashamed of them. They are the tokens of your service just as much as the braid and medals of a military uniform.”

Cassandra snorted softly. “I am not _vain_ , it’s more that I detest all the questions, or the snide little comments. Sometimes I do not know which is worse.”

“Then I will promise not to ask about how you acquired them,” Josephine assured her, lowering her head again to trail her tongue down the length of Cassandra’s spine, provoking a deep, breathy groan from the other woman that set heat curling into her core just as surely as any touch.

The feel of the body beneath her lips and fingers was very different to her own, taut from hard training and combat, olive skin a few shades lighter than Josephine’s deep Antivan complexion. If that was as expected, along with her narrow waist and firm, muscular rump, the luscious curve of Cassandra’s hips was not. Oh, Josephine had watched the Seeker from time to time around Skyhold, had not been able to help her gaze dropping occasionally to the sway of her hips as she walked, but she had always attributed at least some of the tempting sight to the padded clothing the warriors habitually wore. Josephine traced that swell from waist to hips to strong thighs, down long shapely legs, finding a particularly sensitive spot behind Cassandra’s knees that set the warrior twitching. Filing that fact away for future use, she continued her slow exploration, almost regretting her earlier promise not to ask about any of Cassandra’s old wounds when she discovered a particularly intriguing scar high on the inside of one thigh. The Seeker’s breath caught and released in a long shuddering sigh as Josephine kissed the mark, her lips lingering tantalisingly before tracing a slow meandering path back upwards. Beneath her hands she could feel the grief and tension drain from Cassandra‘s body and Josephine hummed quietly in contentment, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment and the way the warrior’s flesh yielded to her attentions, growing soft and pliant. Planting a wet kiss between Cassandra’s shoulder blades, Josephine reached up and tangled her fingers in the warrior’s hair, tugging at the pins that held her braid in place and freeing the raven strands from their confinement. The long sections were longer than she’d thought, soft and silky in her grasp, and for a moment she was distracted by an enticing mental vision of Cassandra with long hair curling around her shoulders.

“ _Mmmmm_ ,” Cassandra sighed in delight as Josephine’s fingertips grazed over her scalp. Josephine could not get enough of hearing these little sounds and vowed to wring more from the warrior’s throat. Cassandra was so serious and dutiful, so committed and hardworking, and Josephine had been waiting a long time for a chance to ease some of that burden. She longed to see her lost in the moment, surrendering herself to pleasure, and she longed to be the cause of that pleasure.

Coaxing Cassandra over onto her back, Josephine carefully lowered herself down until they were once more skin to skin, nestling one thigh between the Seeker’s powerful legs. Cassandra lazily snaked out an arm to pull her closer into what began as a languid kiss but quickly became heated, hands and lips and tongues touching, pulling, tasting, fighting for dominance. It was in Cassandra’s nature to want to be in control, but Josephine was equally determined that for once the warrior was going to give herself up to the care of another.

“Trust me,” she whispered into the other woman’s ear, “just let go. I will be here to catch you.”

Josephine felt the moment when Cassandra relaxed once more, the fingers that gripped the back of her neck easing to a gentle caress. She wasted no time in kissing down the Seeker’s collarbone, feeling the strong, rapid pulse at the base of her neck, before scorching a trail of hot wet kisses into the valley between her breasts that had Cassandra arching beneath her, fingers clenching reflexively against her back as she sucked in a shuddering breath. The Seeker’s beautiful breasts were another surprise, more generously proportioned than she had expected, and she swiftly busied herself with coaxing the dusky nipples to attention with little flicks of her tongue and gentle nibbles with her teeth. Cassandra groaned throatily and ground herself against Josephine’s thigh as she took one more fully into her mouth, sucking on it gently before turning her attention to its twin, circling the areola with the tip of her tongue then flicking it against the sensitive peak before nibbling gently. The Seeker trembled beneath her, breath coming in little huffs and gasps, eyes half-lidded, and Josephine drew back for a moment to regard her, burning the sight into her memory.

“Do you realise how lovely you look,” she murmured softly, brushing stray strands of hair from Cassandra’s forehead.

“I’m quite sure I do not.”

“Denial does not suit you, Cassandra,” Josephine chided.

“Speaking of denial,” Cassandra fixed her with a smouldering look, “it has been a _long_ time, and if you don’t touch me properly right now I may combust.”

Josephine could not help a quiet giggle at Cassandra’s frustrated expression. “A pity, I know many ways in which we could prolong your pleasure, but I will have to instruct you some other time. I suspect it will prove an enjoyable… _challenge_.”

The Seeker would no doubt have made one of her signature disgusted noises, had Josephine not pre-empted it by lowering her head once more to the flat planes of Cassandra’s stomach, relishing the feel of her abdominal muscles fluttering beneath her lips. Cassandra’s hands fisted in her hair as Josephine worked her way down the warrior’s body, alternating soft kisses, nips and swipes of her tongue until she reached the little thatch of tight dark curls that was her ultimate target. Of all the ways she could provide pleasure to her partner, this had always been Josephine’s favourite, both for the sensations of the act itself and witnessing the effects of her attentions, and it was hard to hold back her own excitement as she let her tongue gently explore. She was swiftly lost in sensations, the silky softness of Cassandra’s skin and the musky scent of her arousal, the taste of her, the tickle of hair against her nose, the tension thrumming through the muscles of Cassandra’s thighs where she held her in place. Cassandra was already wet and ready and Josephine’s tongue glided easily across her folds, lapping around her swollen centre, working it more firmly and occasionally tugging with the barest edge of teeth. In this moment, the Seeker was utterly in her control, a sweet surrender that was made only more rewarding by the fact that it was so foreign to her usual nature.

Before she could come undone herself at the sight of Cassandra rapidly unravelling at her touch, Josephine splayed one hand across the curve of Cassandra’s hip to rest against her inner thigh, lightly brushing her entrance. At the warrior’s sharp intake of breath she carefully slipped one finger into her heat, following it with another, stroking firmly while she kept up the assault with her tongue. Cassandra cried out something unintelligible in what might have been Nevarran, the fingers that still wound in Josephine’s hair tightening painfully. Inwardly triumphant, Josephine kept up her rhythm until with a hoarse, low cry every single muscle in Cassandra’s body tensed before she collapsed limp against the bed, her breath coming in great shuddering gasps. Withdrawing her mouth, Josephine rested her head for a moment on the Seeker’s thigh while she worked her through the orgasm, keeping a gentle friction against her centre with the heel of her palm until Cassandra pulled her back up beside her, cupping Josephine’s face in both hands and kissing her open mouthed, still fighting for breath.

“Josephine –“, Cassandra began to speak when she finally came fully back to herself, but Josephine pressed a finger against her lips, seeing the naked vulnerability in the warrior’s eyes.

“Hush,” she soothed. “We will speak more of this, of us, but not now.” Josephine gathered the blankets that had been thrown aside and tucked them around Cassandra before folding herself carefully into the Seeker’s arms, resting her head against Cassandra’s shoulder. She felt the heart beat beneath her cheek, steady and strong, and smiled into the dark, a smile that remained as Cassandra’s breathing slowed and deepened.  She could not find sleep, but it did not matter, she was content to lie soft and warm and naked beside her Seeker and watch the dawn come up over her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per previous chapters, this was written before the information about Cassandra's family and childhood in World of Thedas vol 2, so it contradicts some of the facts there. Some day I might go back and rewrite it, but in the meantime just accept this as slightly AU.


	5. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana uncovers some troubling information that sheds light on King Markus' intentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for anyone who might be affected by it, this chapter contains very brief mentions of miscarriage, stillbirth and abuse.

The bells for morning prayers roused Josephine from her half dozing state, and as she blinked and gathered herself she heard the other sounds of the fortress stirring back to life. From the angle of the rays of sun that crept in through the window it was still early, but late enough that she ought to be absenting herself from the armoury before the smiths began their daily work and she and Cassandra provided grist for Skyhold’s rumour mill.

Josephine had observed Cassandra’s daily routine for long enough to know that the Seeker was usually an early riser, but she still slumbered peacefully beside her, features slack with sleep. Josephine allowed herself the indulgence of watching her for a while, enjoying the rare sight of Cassandra totally at peace, while she contemplated all that had happened the previous night. In truth, it had been beyond her wildest hopes and imaginings, but it had all happened so fast. When Cassandra’s usual emotional control reasserted itself would she regret allowing herself to be carried away in the moment? Would she despise Josephine for taking advantage of her grief and distress? She shivered as a cold fear washed over her and turned her back to the sleeping warrior, unwilling to see the look on Cassandra’s face when she awoke. What had she been thinking, to push herself onto the other woman like that? She could just dress and leave with her dignity intact, and worry about how to repair their friendship later.

She had retrieved her smallclothes and was just shrugging her dress on when she felt movement behind her. Stiffening, Josephine continued to do up buttons and tie laces, steeling herself for the inevitable awkward conversation, but instead she felt warm bare skin press against her back and arms snake around her middle.

“Where are you sneaking off to in such a hurry?” Cassandra’s voice was soft and gently teasing, not angry or upset.

“I-“, Josephine began, then stuttered to a halt, wiping tears she hadn’t even realised she’d shed from her cheeks.

Gently but insistently, Cassandra turned her around to face her, brows furrowing with concern. “Josephine, what’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, I let things get out of hand. I never should have pushed you into this, you were upset. Can you forgive me?”

Cassandra sighed quietly, her lips curling with a hint of amusement, but her eyes were soft with compassion rather than the judgement Josephine had been expecting. “Don’t be silly, there is nothing to forgive, and nothing happened between us that I did not _want_ to happen. I will not lie to you, I was upset, and perhaps had I been in a steadier frame of mind I would not have allowed things to progress as they did, but I cannot bring myself to regret it. I know I am not the most experienced when it comes to relationships, but neither am I some blushing maid that needs to have her virtue defended.” She took Josephine’s hands in hers, thumbs brushing gently over the knuckles, before raising one to her lips to kiss it.

“It’s just, well, you said you hadn’t been with a woman before, so I was worried, well…” Josephine cursed her sudden inability to find the words she needed.

“It is true, I had not. But I did not make love with just any woman, Josephine, I made love with _you_.” Cassandra dropped her gaze to their still entwined hands for a moment. “Now that I think back on the past few months, I have come to realise a truth that had escaped me previously. All those things I thought were just friendship, the little gestures and kindnesses you have done for me, the time we spent together… my heart had fallen for you a long time ago, and it just took until last night for my head to catch up.”

“And now?” Josephine asked tremulously.

“Now,” Cassandra released her hands and reached up to curl her fingers under Josephine’s jaw, thumb brushing tenderly against the corner of her mouth, “my heart and my head are in perfect agreement.” Dark eyes regarded her intently for a heartbeat, then the warrior closed the remaining distance between them and gathered her into a close embrace.

Cassandra was not always the most eloquent, this Josephine knew. The nuances of language and tone were a maze that she navigated cautiously and distrustfully at the best of times, but in physical expression few were her equal, either of the grace with which she could wield a sword and shield, or the gestures and body language that told the observant far more of what she thought and felt than the most fluent of discourse. “ _I love you_ ,” said the gentle pressure of her lips on Josephine’s. “ _I adore you_ ,” proclaimed the hands that gently cupped the ambassador’s face, stroking softly over her cheeks. “ _I trust you_ ,” stated the press of her body against Josephine’s, the way they moulded together like two halves of the same whole. Josephine felt almost light-headed with relief as she clung to the warrior as if she never intended to let go again.

“I am still sorry,” Josephine murmured when they finally parted, both a little breathless from the intensity of their kisses. “I wish I had not brought that horrible man here to Skyhold so that he could cause you such pain, and yet I don’t regret that it finally brought us together. I have wanted this for so long, but I did not know how you felt, and I was afraid that you would reject me.”

Cassandra’s eyes sparkled with amusement and she lifted one brow enquiringly. “Exactly how long have you been nursing this infatuation then, my dearest ambassador?”

“Only since… well, we first met really,” Josephine admitted.

Her words seemed to only increase Cassandra’s good humour. “That sounds like something from one of my romance novels. Which of us is the dashing handsome prince, and which the beautiful maiden, I wonder?”

Josephine smiled, her mood lifted by Cassandra’s teasing tone. “Did you know that there is quite a tradition in Antiva of literature in which two women are the actors in the romance? One might be the beautiful daughter of the local lord, unassailable in her wealth and power, while the other might be a dashing rogue, mysterious and beguiling, who steals the hearts of her victims even as she empties their purses. Or perhaps one is a merchant captain, fearless and brave as any man on the seas, who falls for the flamboyant pirate sent to raid her cargo. I could make you some recommendations.”

“I had heard of a different genre of Antivan literature which might be of interest,” a faint rosy blush tinged Cassandra’s cheeks.

Josephine raised an eyebrow, but decided to take pity on her. “It is true that there are several Antivan writers who are particularly famed for erotic poetry which also features female pairings. In fact I possess several such volumes myself, perhaps, when we have a suitable occasion, you would permit me to read some of their work to you.”

“I… I think I would enjoy that,” the warrior sounded almost bashful, but her pupils were wide and her smile genuine.

“Speaking of poetry, this wasn’t quite how I had imagined we would first be together,” Josephine admitted. “I had imagined we might have dinner by candlelight, enjoy some fine wine and the best truffles from Val Royeaux, then we would cuddle together on an elegant chaise-longue while I read you some of the afore-mentioned poetry, and then we might take a walk on the battlements in the moonlight. When we have dealt with this business with King Markus, perhaps we can do this properly.”

Cassandra kissed her again, softly and with infinite tenderness. “I would like that, my lady,” her words were a promise against her lips.

The second bell of the morning recalled Josephine back to the present and more pressing matters. “I’m afraid I must go and meet Leliana if we are to come up with a plan to salvage the treaty with the king without giving in to his demands, while you may want to consider putting some clothes on. It would not do to have the armourers expecting that naked Seekers are part of the perks of their job.”

Josephine ducked the shirt that Cassandra tossed at her head and left the smithy with a final swift kiss and a spring in her step.

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

Josephine had nearly made it back to the sanctity of her quarters when her luck ran out and she saw Leliana approaching. Cursing softly under her breath she resisted the urge to try to make herself appear less dishevelled, knowing any attempt would only draw even more attention to her less than perfectly groomed state. Instead she smiled brightly in greeting and pasted on her best Wicked Grace face, pretending it was perfectly normal to be still wearing last night’s dress with her hair undone.

“Ah good morning Leliana, I was hoping to find you. Have you heard anything from your agents regarding our problem with King Markus?”

“Well, good morning to _you_ ,” Leliana’s assessing gaze and barely disguised grin made it quite clear the Nightingale had noticed, and drawn probably frighteningly accurate conclusions. “Actually that was why I was looking for you. I do have some news to share, why don’t you come up to the rookery in a few minutes? I have a few urgent messages I need to send first.”

 _While you try to look less like someone who didn’t sleep in her own bed last night_ was the unspoken mental addition to Leliana’s sentence, but Josephine could see it in her eyes. The spymaster leaned in closer to Josephine’s ear, dropping her voice until it was a murmur for them alone. “I expect to hear _all_ of the details later.” Her fingers brushed at Josephine’s slightly askew collar, an amused hum escaping her lips. “You know, I always suspected Cassandra might be the biting type. You’ll want a bit of powder on that. “

“Leliana!” Josephine hissed, swatting the bard’s fingers away.

The spymaster merely giggled and went on her way, humming happily, leaving Josephine to stare after her and rue her luck.

After a swift wash, change of dress and re-pinning of her hair, Josephine felt ready to venture forth again. She was eager to find out what Leliana had learned, and despite her teasing she knew her friend was genuinely happy for her so she could bear it in good grace. The rookery was busy with Leliana’s scouts, but the spymaster swiftly dismissed them so they could speak privately, beckoning Josephine over to a quiet corner where two cups of tea steamed on a tray.

“I will warn you now Josephine,” Leliana began, “that this is a rather high-risk strategy. I am not sure if it will be enough to sway King Markus, I believe it might, but as our diplomat, the final decision must be yours.”

Josephine nodded in understanding. “I am not sure what choice we have, in truth. I realise my opinion could be considered a little biased, but I’m sure you agree that we cannot allow Cassandra to meet his demands. However neither can we afford to allow the Venatori to operate unchecked across Nevarra. Please, tell me what you have learned.”

“I have done some digging into Maximillian Pentaghast, King Markus’ chosen candidate for the throne. He is 39 years old, and a widower. He was previously married to a prominent member of the Van Markham family, but his wife died some years ago and there was no issue from the marriage. He also has quite an unpleasant reputation for his dealings with women – there were frequent rumours of cruelty and abuse of his wife and other female members of his household, but nothing was ever proven.”

Josephine flinched at the information, even more determined that Cassandra could not be allowed anywhere near this man. “He sounds delightful, no wonder King Markus has chosen him as his successor.”

“Quite,” Leliana steepled her fingers and leaned back in her chair. “What interested me was the bastard that King Markus referred to. I managed to discover that his mother is a noblewoman, Baroness Rosamunde of Perendale, although the family is not particularly prestigious among the Nevarran nobility. They had fallen out of favour with the king and were on the point of having their holdings confiscated, but then a year ago the king suddenly changed his mind and restored their titles and claims. At the same time, Maximillian publicly recognised his illegitimate son by the Baroness.”

“You are suggesting that there was some connection between these events?” Josephine’s love of intrigues couldn’t help but spark into life despite the seriousness of the situation.

Leliana clicked her tongue in frustration. “I cannot find any concrete proof, but it seems very suspicious. There were no rumours of a dalliance between them, I could not even find any mentions of them being at the same social occasion. If they were having an affair serious enough to produce a child, they were remarkably successful in concealing all trace of it. One thing I learned in my time as a bard is how hard it is to keep a secret. There is always a servant who sees something they should not, an indiscrete letter, even a glance just a few seconds too long at a ball. But I found nothing at all, and that in itself is highly damning to me.”

Josephine pondered for a moment. “But why acknowledge a child that was not his own? From what Cassandra has told me about the obsession with bloodlines among the Pentaghasts, it seems a rather unlikely course of action, particularly for someone who might realistically claim the throne one day.”

“Exactly Josephine,” Leliana nodded, “so I began to consider what might lie behind it, and I noticed something. King Markus as you know has no heir, nor does his brother Ferdinand, which is why the succession is even in doubt in the first place. In fact, among the leading candidates for the throne, a surprisingly high number are childless. I also found some troubling hints of multiple miscarriages, and of stillborn children with strange defects or abnormalities.”

“The people of Nevarra would not be impressed by a ruling family unable to even bear children,” Josephine mused. “It would strengthen the claims of the other noble houses who would rather see the Pentaghasts deposed.”

“Indeed. I strongly suspect King Markus’ aim in trying to secure a match between Maximilian and Cassandra is to attempt to produce a viable heir without diluting their precious bloodline too much, assuming Maximilian is even capable of fathering a child at all. It would not surprise me if in that eventuality a suitable stand-in might be discretely procured, and of course the heir would still have Pentaghast blood through Cassandra.”

“That is… quite unpleasant to contemplate,” Josephine grimaced, trying to reconcile the Cassandra she knew, fierce, vibrant, a warrior to the core, being reduced to a mere brood mare for a despotic king.

“But of course, we cannot prove any of this, and the king can claim it is purely speculation and conjecture. However you and I both know how kingship is bound up with image and perception. We can only hope that even the possibility of this becoming public is enough to persuade him.”

Josephine sipped at her tea for a moment, turning over in her head all that Leliana had revealed. It did make sense, but were they clutching at unrelated facts and making them form the picture they desired? King Markus might be aging and of declining health, but they could still ill-afford to alienate Nevarra, particularly given the country’s position as a buffer between Orlais and Tevinter. But what was the alternative? She had often been frustrated by Cassandra’s dislike of her family and reluctance to use her connections, but now she understood what lay behind it there was absolutely no way she could play any part in allowing her to become ensnared in their machinations.

“I think we must play the cards we have, Leliana. Please convey my thanks to your agents for their assistance.”

“I shall,” the bard smiled, then her eyes narrowed in concern. “Do you want to discuss this with Cassandra first? She has had enough unpleasant surprises, no?”

“Actually, I thought we might try to resolve this without her presence,” Josephine admitted. She briefly flashed back to the distressing sight of Cassandra, tucked in on herself, sobbing with anguish. “This has brought back some very painful memories for her, and I would prefer not to trouble her further.”

Leliana regarded her steadily, unable to conceal a hint of interest, and Josephine wondered how much the spymaster knew of the things Cassandra had confided to her. “As you wish.” She reached forward to take Josephine’s hands in hers, a gentle smile now lighting up her solemn face. “I am very pleased for you, you know. You are both very dear to me, and it warms my heart that you should find a little happiness together. The Maker knows all of us could use some in these dark times.”

Josephine felt a spark of warmth at her old friend’s words, but she was still unpleasantly aware of the task ahead. “We shall see if Cassandra still feels the same way after we deal with King Markus,” she replied, “then you can be pleased for us. I had better begin preparing for the discussions, I need to plan how best we can present our case if we are to make it seem more than outlandish speculation.”

“Of course,” Leliana rose, wandering over to the balcony that looked out over the Skyhold courtyard. “I have faith in you Josie, and I’m sure Cassandra does as well. We will keep her from the king’s clutches.”


	6. Whispers and Rumours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine faces down the King, and Cassandra and Josephine enjoy a quiet moment together.

With the knowledge Cassandra had imparted to her the previous evening, it took all of Josephine’s diplomatic training and profound personal restraint to avoid her distaste showing. She told herself that it was nothing new, she frequently had to negotiate with persons she found unpleasant, but this seemed so much more _personal_. Leliana and the Inquisitor seemed to reflect the same determination to thwart the king’s twisted scheme, an almost unconscious closing of the ranks which manifested in them sitting a little closer at the negotiation table, a little straighter backed and more intent on the discussions.

The king likewise had bolstered his contingent of advisors, in addition to the Mortalitasi he was accompanied by an official Josephine had swiftly identified as the Nevarran High Chancellor, clad in elaborate robes of office, along with a more non-descript man who was introduced as the king’s chamberlain. He wore simpler dress, a nobleman’s tunic which bore the Pentaghast heraldry upon the breast. Josephine was not familiar with this particular individual, but he bore a striking resemblance in colouring and bone structure to both King Markus and Cassandra, suggesting he was a family member.

“I see our esteemed cousin is not joining us today,” the king commented bitingly, eyeing each of the inquisition representatives in turn as if measuring them up, identifying the weak link he could bring all of his royal status and bluster to bear upon.

 _She is not here at your pleasure for you to ridicule and humiliate_ , was the retort Josephine formed in her mind, but her lips brought forth the required platitudes.  “I thought we could settle this without requiring Lady Cassandra’s presence,” Josephine began. “She is after all a key member of the Inquisition’s military leadership, and she has many other duties which require her attention.”

With the sort of exquisite timing usually found only in badly written novels, the door of the chamber chose that moment to swing open, admitting one of Leliana’s agents, and behind her Cassandra, wearing a nicely fitted dark grey wool tunic and an inscrutable expression. Either oblivious or choosing to ignore the slightly confused looks her presence had drawn from the other parties at the table, she took a seat next to Josephine, favouring the ambassador with a brief, tight smile. Josephine was initially startled, then gratified, to feel the warmth of a hand squeezing her own under the table, a thumb brushing softly over her knuckles in a silent gesture of support. She decided to postpone the question of how Cassandra had come to join the discussions for later.

At the other end of the table, the agent bent to whisper something in Leliana’s ear. The spymaster nodded acknowledgment and sent her on her way, and it was only Josephine’s long familiarity with Leliana that allowed her to observe the momentary flash of satisfaction that barely curled the corners of her lips.

“Well, if we could come to the matter at hand,” Josephine leaned forward, fixing her attention firmly on the Nevarran monarch. “The Inquisition has considered your terms, Your Majesty, and we regret that we do not find them acceptable in their present form.”

“A pity,” the king’s reply was almost nonchalant. “And yet you still require access to our sovereign territory to facilitate your operations against these Venatori. It does not seem to us that you have much of a bargaining position, Lady Montilyet.”

“Naturally we would not expect Your Majesty to grant us these liberties without adequate compensation, and we are prepared to meet some of your conditions. The Inquisition is prepared to make a public endorsement of your candidate for the succession, but we categorically reject any marriage contract with Lady Cassandra.”

King Markus regarded her intently, resting his chin on steepled fingers. His dark eyes burned into Josephine’s, attempting to intimidate her with the force of his personality, although the effect was somewhat spoiled by the care Josephine had taken to position them so that she was backlit by the rays of sunshine that streamed in through the stained glass windows. On such small details many a delicate negotiation had succeeded, or foundered. “We did not take you for a fool, Lady Montilyet, and we would suggest you not make the same mistake with us. Surely you cannot expect us to accept such meagre satisfaction. We are not to be trifled or toyed with.”

“There are other benefits which you have not considered, Majesty,” Leliana interjected. Josephine tensed in her seat, casting a quick glance at Cassandra who was glaring steadily at one of the Mortalitasi, studiously avoiding any chance of meeting the king’s eye. Perhaps there was something unique in their magical skills after all, for he showed no sign of the intimidation most men would have felt on feeling the full force of the Seeker’s disdain. “We have come into some information which sheds some _interesting_ light on your reasons for seeking such a marriage alliance, information that I’m sure your royal person would prefer not be made known to your loyal subjects, particularly to those who even now cast covetous eyes upon your throne.”

The king’s look turned positively thunderous. “We are not sure what you are insinuating, _Nightingale_ , and we do not appreciate it.”

Josephine tossed a brief apologetic look at Cassandra, silently willing her to understand, and to keep her temper under control. “If you’ll indulge me for a moment, Your Majesty, let me lay out a plausible scenario for you. You are in want of an heir, for you are childless, as is your brother, the next in line for the throne. In fact, quite a few of your immediate close relatives are in the same situation. Perhaps all is not well with the male line of your family.” Josephine ticked off her points on her fingers, steadfastly ignoring the steadily rising brows that were the only visible sign of Cassandra’s consternation. “With no clear favourite to succeed you, you chose your great-nephew Maximilian. He too is childless and a widower, but you began to prepare the ground for his ascension by finding a desperate woman to claim he has sired a child by her. The Baroness of Perendale was extremely accommodating in exchange for the return of the lands and titles that were due for confiscation, and so you gained an heir. However, you know the heir is not of your blood, not a Pentaghast, and while that might suffice for now to install Maximilian as your preferred successor, you cannot truly contemplate this alleged son ever sitting on the throne of Nevarra.”

The king’s disgusted exclamation pierced the sudden quiet that had descended on the chamber with Josephine’s explanations. “What foolishness is this? We came here to treat in good faith, and you reward us with petty gossip? Truly we expected more from the tales that have reached our court about the leaders of the Inquisition.”

“Is it truly merely gossip, Your Majesty?” Josephine countered, refusing to be intimidated. “I had not quite finished yet. Knowing the weakness of the male blood, you looked for a female relative, one close enough to satisfy your desire to continue your bloodline, yet distant enough to not be afflicted by the same curse that dogs your immediate family, and your gaze turned to your estranged cousin. Surely she would be desperate to purge the shame of her father’s sins against you, not to mention her blood must be strong and true, for she has earned her place in the world by slaying dragons. She would no doubt be highly suitable to deliver the Pentaghast heir you seek.”

“This is an outrage!” The Nevarran chancellor rose to his feet, colour rising in his cheeks. “To imply that His Majesty and his close family are less than… potent could be considered treasonous.”

“Then it is good we are not in Nevarra, no?” Leliana’s voice was as cool as always. “Although, if His Majesty’s anointed successor is as virile as he would like us to think, it is odd that immediately before leaving Nevarra to present us with this suggested marriage contract he raised an undistinguished bard to the nobility. A bard with no record of service to the crown, or of heroic deeds.” Her lips twisted into a smile, her voice a blade as sharp as any of those forged from steel. “Indeed, if I might be indelicate, according to my sources this man’s main talent appears to be the getting of babes upon married noble women.”

Josephine blinked at the spymaster, who merely raised one auburn brow, her faint smile widening. Well, that explained the urgent message from her agent, she supposed. Beside her she was aware of Cassandra’s sharp intake of breath, but for now at least the warrior remained at least outwardly calm. King Markus looked from Leliana to Josephine, his brow furrowed sharply, and the gesture was so evocative of Cassandra that Josephine felt a rush of profound disquiet. His chamberlain had leant close to the king to whisper in his ear while the chancellor continued to puff in outrage.

“Despite whatever you think you know,” the chamberlain finally spoke, his voice unctuous, “you cannot prove any of these wild claims. I do not see what you hope to gain by spreading this slander, certainly it will not sway our illustrious king from his course.”

“Is that so?” Josephine leaned forward, refusing to allow any sign of doubt. She had to be strong and persuasive, for Cassandra, for any hope of them having any kind of relationship. “That is a rather naïve view, my Lord. The best stories do not need documented proof and signed testimony if one knows the right people. A word in the right ears, and we can have every citizen in Nevarra talking about it within a week. Surely you know how the common folk love to poke fun at their betters, why I imagine within another week there will be tavern songs being sung, perhaps the more daring citizens might even incorporate some elements of the tale into a comic play, with names suitably changed of course. Once a story has life breathed into it, it is very hard to extinguish. You might have one bard slung into the stocks, a playwright thrown in prison, but another will spring up before your soldiers have even turned the key. Do not make the mistake of underestimating _us_ , my Lord.”

Josephine paused to draw breath, gratified by the look of dawning horror on the chamberlain’s face. From the corner of her eye she was aware of Cassandra turning to regard her thoughtfully, and though she struggled to maintain a calm, impassive demeanour she could not help her inner pleasure at the look on the warrior’s face. Unless she was very much mistaken, Cassandra was _proud_ of her. A renewed squeeze of her hand under the table, a thumb lingering for a moment against her thigh, was her reward.

“This is-“, the chamberlain began, his voice rising to almost an indignant squeak, but with an impatient grunt and an imperious wave the king stifled his protest before it could begin.

“Silence, Matthias.” Aged but still sharp eyes flicked briefly to Cassandra, then back again to Josephine. “We suppose we should have expected such mastery of the more nefarious arts from those steeped in the mire of the Orlesian courts. It would appear the Nightingale’s reputation is well-earned, and the accounts of the shrewdness of Lady Montilyet do not do you justice. Our cousin is fortunate to have such skilled champions.”

“Lady Cassandra is a quite remarkable woman,” Josephine replied. “It is a shame you seem to value her so little beyond the blood in her veins. She is a warrior beyond compare,a stalwart protector of the weak, courageous and steadfast. She is a woman of shining faith and piety, an inspiration to those whose own belief falters. But above all she is a friend of unswerving principles, loyal, honest and honourable. You have so many illustrious forebears, Majesty, but it does not seem as though there are so many paragons among your living flesh and blood that you should consider her so unworthy of your respect.”

The king regarded her steadily and coldly, while Josephine tried to steadfastly ignore the knowing smile that tugged at Leliana’s lips, and even the faint grin that the Inquisitor was trying his best to wrest from his face. The monarch’s expression was absolutely inscrutable, only the faint tapping of his fingers against the surface of the table betraying any hint of tension. Josephine had played enough Wicked Grace to know that the most dangerous of opponents are those who do not realise that the game is lost, and she kept herself absolutely still and silent, ready for whatever counter-gambit the king might offer.

“Very well,” King Markus finally grunted. “In exchange for our signature to the treaty as agreed, we will accept your offer of an endorsement of Maximilian, but will make no claim on Lady Cassandra. We trust this will prove acceptable, Lady Montilyet?”

“Very, your Majesty,” Josephine smiled. The most important rule of diplomacy, she had learned over the years, was to accept defeat charitably, but to accept victory with even more grace. “I will have our scribes draw up the documents and send them to your chambers for review, ready for a formal signing tomorrow, if that would be acceptable?”

“Yes, yes,” King Markus waved impatiently, already rising from his chair and gesturing to his entourage to follow him. Somewhat discourteously he did not acknowledge any of them as he practically stalked from the room, but Josephine could not bring herself to care about the snub. Without thinking, she turned to Cassandra and threw her arms around the warrior, burying her face in her neck and breathing in the comforting scent of soap and warm flesh.

“Is there something you two would like to share with the group?” the inquisitor’s voice was light, teasing, and Josephine inwardly groaned as she felt Cassandra tense under her palms.

 _Maker have mercy upon me_.

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

By the time Josephine had finished dealing with all the little details around getting a draft of the treaty drawn up and sent to the king’s representatives and all the other trivial yet urgent matters that inevitably arose when Skyhold hosted such distinguished visitors, her head throbbed dully and she wanted nothing more than to escape to her quarters and sit in the dark and quiet. Finally reaching the sanctuary of her rooms, she quickly shed her confining clothes, unpinned her hair and donned a loose robe, before reclining gratefully upon the couch before the hearth, closing her eyes and listening to the soothing crackle and spit of the fire. Freed from all the demanding voices, the pain behind her eyes slowly receded to the point she felt it safe to open them, at which point she noticed the bottle of wine and a small handwritten note on the side table.

The wine was a fine vintage she was particularly fond of, and the note was written in a familiar spiky script she immediately recognised as Cassandra’s rather untidy left-handed penmanship. Fighting the fond smile that wanted to involuntarily spread across her lips, she unfolded the paper, turning it to the firelight so she could read the short missive.

 

> _Dearest Josephine,_
> 
> _The king is correct in that I consider myself fortunate indeed to have such a skilled and devoted champion and I am eternally grateful for your efforts on my behalf._
> 
> _I am not sure how I can repay your skill and kindness, but I hope that sharing this wine together once we are both free from our duties might be a start, however insignificant in relation to the debt I owe you._
> 
> _You will have a thousand and one things to do, but if it is agreeable I will call upon you later once you have escaped from your duties, and I from Leliana’s interrogation._
> 
> _ Cassandra _

 

Josephine’s smile widened. She had a fairly good idea of what lay in store for Cassandra and did not envy her one bit, having endured much the same herself. In truth she minded little for herself, she and Leliana had always shared each other’s secrets and even a lover on one memorable occasion, but she knew how Cassandra valued her privacy. Of course it was only a matter of time before their relationship became the talk of Skyhold, especially after her earlier indiscretion. For all her love of gossip Leliana would not hurt someone she loved by spilling their secrets and the inquisitor was sensible and discrete, but it was inevitable that it would get out eventually. She was not sure how Cassandra would feel about it becoming public knowledge, and made a note to discuss it with her before they set fire to that particular bridge.

The warmth of the fire was tugging her eyelids downward at a quite alarming rate. Entertaining idle fancies of proclaiming her love for Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast from the ramparts of Skyhold, complete with banners and trumpeters, Josephine allowed herself to slip into a sweet slumber.

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

Josephine drifted awake so slowly that at first she though the gentle fingers brushing her cheek were part of her dream, until she became aware of a familiar scent of vanilla and jasmine and warm hazel eyes regarding her with affection.

“Cassandra,” she murmured sleepily, reaching out to trap a hand and hold it against her cheek.

“I’m sorry it’s so late, I got caught up. I can leave if you’re too tired.”

“No, please stay.”  Josephine shifted, making space for Cassandra at one end of the couch, but instead of sitting side by side the warrior sat lengthways, stretching out her long legs and settling Josephine between them so she rested in Cassandra’s arms. Sighing contentedly, Josephine allowed her head to droop back onto Cassandra’s chest, enjoying the feel of her arms enfolding her snugly, soft kisses pressed to her neck and collarbone. “So how was Leliana?”

“Thorough,” Cassandra replied grudgingly. “Apart from fishing for sordid details, which I was _not_ about to furnish her with, she wanted to make sure I wasn’t having second thoughts about our relationship.”

“Why would she ask that?”

Cassandra toyed idly with a lock of Josephine’s hair, smoothing it between her fingers. “Because you are a woman, Josephine, and Leliana knows that my previous relationship was with a man. I believe she feared I would have cold feet once I had a chance to truly think about it. She is quite protective of your romantic interests, you know.”

Josephine tensed. She knew it was ridiculous, they had already spoken of it this morning and nothing had changed since then, there was no reason for Cassandra to be having second thoughts, but the fear was as irrational as the one that had gripped her when she awoke in the smithy, ice-cold fingers grasping her spine and twisting into her mind. Cassandra was not giddy or indecisive, nor given to flights of passing fancy, but she couldn’t help holding her breath as she waited for the Seeker to continue.

“I told her that she was being _absurd_ , of course.” Cassandra’s voice deepened slightly to the decisive, commanding tone she used when speaking from the depths of her conviction. “I am in love with _you_ , and that fact that you are a woman and my previous lover was a man matters not. Your cleverness, your skill with words, your kind heart, your gentle nature, the way your eyes light up when you see something, _anything_ that needs organising, these things do not change depending on the outer shell that the Maker gave us.” The hands that had been idly brushing her neck stilled against her collarbone, holding her in place, making it abundantly clear to Josephine that whatever else the world threw at them, her place was _here_ , in Cassandra’s arms. She only realised she was crying when she felt the salt sting of hot tears against her cheek, but the fingers that wiped them away were infinitely tender, and the lips that softly kissed the crown of her head promised that this would always be where she was wanted and welcome.

“So much has changed, in so little time,” Cassandra murmured, allowing Josephine to quietly compose herself. “It has all been a little overwhelming. Perhaps we should take things a little more slowly for a while.”

“Mmmm,” Josephine sighed softly, groaning as Cassandra’s fingers combed through her hair, sending pleasant cold prickles across her scalp. “I believe I promised you some poetry.”

“You did.”

“The king is leaving tomorrow, once he is out of my hair then I can devote myself entirely to properly courting you in a way that befits a daughter of the royal house of Nevarra.”

Cassandra snorted in amusement. “I’m surprised you continue to have any regard whatsoever for Nevarran royalty after dealing with King Markus.”

“Hmm, my opinion of you has only increased due to the fact you have spent so long strenuously distancing yourself from him.” Josephine didn’t need to look at Cassandra to know she was struggling to keep a straight face, she could feel the faint vibrations as the Seeker tried to suppress her mirth. Abruptly the sensations stopped, and Josephine turned in concern to find Cassandra looking contemplative.

“He sent for me, this evening,” she finally said, her fingers resuming their slow trails across Josephine’s collarbone. “He wanted to speak to me in private. I didn’t know if I should accept, but then I chided myself for being a coward. He has no power over me here.”

“Why didn’t you say? I could have come with you-“, Josephine began, but Cassandra cut her off.

“It is alright Josephine. He wanted to speak of my father, and he told me things I did not know about him. He was raised in the king’s household, as many young relatives of the king are, there is nothing unusual in that, but I was not aware that he apparently gained King Markus’ favour and was granted several prestigious positions in his service. But when he married and Anthony was born he spent more and more time in Cumberland away from the court and eventually withdrew from the king’s service completely. The king told me that he was harsh with him when he heard of his association with the coup attempt because of the fact they had been so close, and the king had favoured him above many of his closer relatives, so he felt it as a personal betrayal.” Cassandra’s fingers tightened involuntarily, an edge of asperity creeping into her voice. “I do not know what he hoped to gain by telling me this now. It does not change my opinion of him one jot.”

“Pay it no heed,” Josephine turned in Cassandra’s embrace so she could grasp her hands to offer comfort. “He is angry that he did not get what he wanted and lashing out.”

“His anger would be easier to bear, but in truth he seemed more sad than angry.” Cassandra mused. “I care little for his feelings, but he made me realise how little I really know of my parents. I don’t suppose I ever really mourned _them_ , just the hole that was left in my life when they were gone.”

“Nothing can change what happened, or bring them back,” Josephine reached up to press a reassuring kiss to Cassandra’s jaw. “You were so young, no one can say how you should remember them or how you should mourn them, least of all the man who took them from you. Tomorrow he will be gone, and you can put him from your mind.”

Cassandra chuckled softly, gathering Josephine closer and settling them more comfortably upon the couch. “You are right of course, and it is you I have to thank for his departure. I… I do not know how this would have gone, had you not been able to present my case, and I do not quite know how to thank you. This… us… it is more than I could ever have hoped for, more than I perhaps deserve.”

“Nonsense, I merely did my job, as you do yours every time you go into the field with the inquisitor and place yourself in harm’s way.” Josephine wriggled free and reached for the bottle of wine. “Since you went to the trouble of finding my favourite wine, I think we both deserve to share this together, no?”

Cassandra’s eyes glinted dangerously in the firelight. “Hmm. Now that you have heard all my deepest darkest secrets, I think it’s time we finally address some of those stories you so adroitly prevented Yvette from sharing at the Winter Palace. Perhaps we could start with the one about the court musician that your father had to chase away from his estate after he insisted on serenading you from horseback, that one sounded very interesting.”

Josephine groaned softly as she poured the wine. “You are an evil woman, Lady Pentaghast.”


	7. Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life at Skyhold returns to normal after King Markus' visit and Josephine and Leliana try to find a memento of Cassandra's family.

“If I might say, you look very happy today Josephine.”

Josephine glanced up from her breakfast to find Vivienne regarding her with a beautifully manicured eyebrow raised. The mage’s look was slightly expectant, as if she hoped Josephine would elaborate on the reasons behind her contentment, but Josephine was not in the mood to share. What lay between her and Cassandra was still so new and fragile, and she didn’t think it too selfish to want the time and space for them to fully explore and understand it before sharing it with the rest of their friends.

“Thank you Lady Vivienne, although I feel no special pleasure today, perhaps it is just that I had a particularly good night’s sleep.”

That at least was the truth, she had slept soundly and well wrapped in the warm solid strength of Cassandra’s arms, the Seeker’s breath a reassuring whisper against her neck. They had talked long into the night, sharing stories and anecdotes from their lives, finding the emotional intimacy to match the physical they had enjoyed the previous night.

“Are you sure my dear? There’s a most becoming colour to your cheeks, it suits you.”

 _Maker’s mercy, the woman was persistent_. “Well, perhaps it is relief that the royal delegation is returning to Nevarra. Their presence has been quite a strain.”

Vivienne’s gaze was calculating. “On some more than others, I hear.”

Josephine murmured something noncommittal, and then made her excuses and escaped to the sanctity of her study, where she stared unseeing at a report on diplomatic efforts in Tevinter, her mind elsewhere. Such distraction was not usual for her, but her mind kept wandering back, to Cassandra’s delight at tales of Josephine’s childhood escapades, and then to her sorrow at the deaths of her own parents.

_Every time I realise I can’t recall them I feel like I have lost them all over again._

The words echoed in her mind, over and over, until Josephine suddenly snatched up her quill and paper, a determined expression on her face.

She had an idea.

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

Everyone at Skyhold breathed a sigh of relief when the Nevarran delegation had departed, and gradually things returned to what passed for normal when trying to prevent a crazed Tevinter magister from ending the world. Josephine’s workload did not noticeably diminish, there were other alliances to be made and other allies to keep in favour, but she found herself able to breathe a little more easily, step a little lighter.

Days passed, full of the usual run-of-the-mill business, negotiations and treaties, access to land and funds, securing of supply routes, deals with merchants and artisans and mercenaries. The days belonged to the Inquisition, but her nights she devoted to Cassandra, and they spent them in utter contentment, learning to trust and love and _live_ together, how they fitted each to the other, and how to bend and twist and adjust the shape of their lives to make room for another person. It was perhaps easier for Josephine, for she had rarely been the solitary type, but for Cassandra, long accustomed to sleeping alone and to a more nomadic existence in the pursuit of her duty, the habits of self-sufficiency were harder to give up. Josephine was careful to give her the space she needed, and all the happier when Cassandra returned to her bed after some time to herself.

For all that they were discreet, it was inevitable that their joy would not go unnoticed by others and by now their relationship was well on its way to becoming the worst kept secret in Skyhold. Josephine had worried over Cassandra’s reaction, but in truth she need not have, the warrior bore the occasional ribald teasing from their companions in good grace, and if the odd speculative glance or furtive whisper in the tavern bothered her she gave no sign of it. Still, it was only Leliana and to a lesser extent the inquisitor who truly appreciated the depth of their love and the circumstances in which it was forged, and both were ruthlessly protective of them. Anyone who might find any objection to the idea that the ambassador of the Inquisition and its resident Seeker were together was swiftly educated as to the error of their ways.

It was not a surprise then that it was Leliana who one morning came to Josephine’s chambers with a letter in her hand in the ambassador’s elegant, curling script and notes scribbled alongside it in a different, less precise hand.

“I know you like to procure suitable decorations for our headquarters to show the inquisition in the appropriate light,” the spymaster began teasingly, “but I am curious as to why you have apparently spent the last few weeks searching for portraits of obscure Nevarran nobility.” She glanced down at the letter in her hand. “More precisely, for a portrait of one Duke Viktor Pentaghast.” Her smile softened as she dropped into the chair opposite Josephine’s desk, studying the ambassador’s face. “I assume this is something to do with Cassandra?”

Josephine nodded. “He was her father, but Cassandra was so young when he died that she barely remembers him. She told me once that because he was executed for treason, all portraits of him in Nevarra were ordered to be destroyed. I thought if I could find a picture of him somewhere it might help her to deal with her unresolved grief.”

Leliana’s eyes shone and she tilted her head to one side, sighing wistfully. “Oh Josie, you are so sweet. I hope Cassandra realises how lucky she is.”

“I believe she does,” Josephine couldn’t help a smile of her own, before her attention sharpened back onto the letter Leliana was still holding. “How did you come to know of this anyway?”

“ _Tsk_ Josie, you know better than to ask that. What matters is how I can help you, since you have apparently been blundering around aimlessly and getting nowhere. I know you are not receiving any guests for the next few days, which is just as well, since you are coming with me to Val Royeaux.”

“I am?” Josephine frowned. “What are we going to be doing in Val Royeaux?”

The spymaster shook her head in mock annoyance. “Looking at paintings, silly.”

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

Josephine had never been inside the Grand Cathedral before, and its opulence and sheer scale made her feel very small and insignificant. Sun streamed in through the magnificent stained glass windows, painting the floor in pools of red and gold, turning Leliana’s auburn locks into a crimson blaze as the spymaster led her past the main altar and the massive statue of Andraste to one of the smaller side chapels. Candles flickered in recesses, illuminating a statue of a heavily armoured warrior, one hand holding a sword, the other reaching up to the skies for the Maker’s blessing. Josephine gasped slightly at the familiar symbol emblazoned on the warrior’s chest, the Eye of Truth wreathed in flames.

“This is the chapel of the Seekers of Truth,” Leliana whispered at her side. “Lord Seekers are buried here, along with other Seekers who have particularly distinguished themselves in service.” She gestured towards several large bronze tablets embedded in the marble floor before the statue, inscribed with many names and dates.

“What are we doing here? I thought we were trying to find a picture of Cassandra’s family.”

“Patience Josie, since we are here for a little art appreciation I wanted to show you something else first, since Cassandra would forbid me to speak of it were she here.”

Leliana led Josephine over to one of the side walls, which was hung with many paintings. Some depicted scenes of Seekers in battle or at prayer, while some were presumably portraits of Lord Seekers of the past, mostly dour, stern-faced men in dark armour. Her attention was drawn past them to a large painting showing a female warrior standing astride the corpse of a dragon, gleaming sword held aloft in triumph. In the background Josephine recognised the spire of the cathedral, while beside the fallen dragon a figure in the robes of the Divine stood with hands raised in benediction, pilgrims and Chantry sisters kneeling in prayer at her feet. Josephine looked closer at the figure of the warrior, seeing once more the Eye of Truth upon her breast, long dark hair tied at her back, and her eyes dropped to the small plaque below the painting.

_The Hero of Orlais, 9:22 Dragon._

“The painting was commissioned by Divine Beatrix,” Leliana murmured beside her. “It used to hang in the main cathedral, but Cassandra absolutely hates it and finally managed to persuade Divine Justinia to have it moved into the Seeker’s chapel instead. She would no doubt tell you that she wasn’t wearing that particular armour, or that the Divine was in the tower not beside the dragon, or any number of other insignificant things that are wrong with it. I swear that woman has never heard of artistic licence.”

Josephine suppressed a giggle, feeling it inappropriate in this hushed place, and gazed once more at the painting. The Cassandra she knew was a living, breathing woman who sighed wistfully at beautiful love sonnets and liked rose petals in her bath water, who complained about the ache in her joints from the cold and a stiff shoulder from an old injury, who _squeaked_ in a distinctly un-heroic way when Josephine used her mouth in just the right place and liked to fall asleep cuddled up so that their bodies touched from shoulders to toes. The Cassandra in the painting was young, not yet scarred, but she would go on to become the woman who faced down demons and red Templars and Venatori on a daily basis alongside the inquisitor.

“Cassandra can be prone to self-doubt,” Leliana smiled softly. “When she is unsure and struggles with herself, remind her of what she can achieve through faith and sheer determination.”

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

After leaving the cathedral, Josephine followed Leliana into one of the less distinguished quarters, where the buildings crowded in on themselves and the sounds and smells of a thousand different trades assaulted the senses. The street they followed was lined with workshops, warehouses and merchant stalls, thronged with porters carrying goods to and fro and barkers advertising all sorts of wares from weapons and furniture to wine and cheeses. Some of the people passing by looked less than reputable and Josephine found herself sticking close to the spymaster’s side, trying not to look fearful while keeping an eye out for anyone with nefarious intent.

“What is this place you are taking me?” she asked, not for the first time. “This does not seem like the sort of street where we would find an art collector.”

“Oh, the man we seek is a collector, of sorts,” Leliana murmured. “He has an interest in many things.”

Josephine frowned. “You mean a thief, don’t you?”

“Don’t be silly Josie. He is a merchant, he does not get his hands dirty.”

“A fence, then. Must you split hairs?”

The spymaster stopped so abruptly that Josephine almost ran into her and was forced to grab at her cloak for a moment to keep her balance. “I am trying to do you a favour Josephine. Please don’t call him that in his presence, he can be quite prickly about such things.”

“Very well,” Josephine sighed. “Let’s get this done, I do not like this area.”

Doing her best to put her misgivings to one side, the ambassador followed Leliana into a large, non-descript warehouse that backed onto one of the many canals. The interior was dim after the brightness of the street, but when her eyes adjusted she found they were in an office of sorts, a wall of small cabinets the only furniture other than a desk and chair, from which a red-bearded dwarf was rising, smiling broadly at the spymaster.

“Nightingale, it’s been a while.”

“Einar,” Leliana reached out to take the dwarf’s proffered hand, giggling softly as instead he took hers and pressed it to his lips. “I trust you have it?”

The dwarf gave a great gusting sigh, feigning distress. “To be all business is it? Ah, you wound me Nightingale. Are you not going to introduce your lovely friend first?”

“Very well, this is Lady Josephine. Josie, this is Einar Oreson, an old… acquaintance.”

“Charmed, milady,” the dwarf sketched a low bow, his eyes twinkling in amusement, although there was a hard edge to his expression that warned Josephine not to be taken in by his affable exterior.

At Leliana’s impatient prompting the dwarf unlocked a door at the back of the office and led them through a long narrow corridor, doors set in either side at regular intervals. After passing three or four he unlocked one of them and ushered them into a larger room full of shelves, piled high with trinkets and valuables of all sorts.

“We keep the Nevarran stuff in here, although we don’t have much call for paintings, most people want artefacts from the necropoli, jewels, that sort of thing. It’s quite a stroke of luck I had the chap you’re after, although I have no idea where we put him. He’s been here quite a while, so you’ll have to do a bit of looking yourselves,” the dwarf chattered on, passing the shelves and through a doorway behind them into a smaller chamber. In the gloom Josephine could make out numerous canvases stacked against a wall and others on easels, some shrouded in cloths. The dwarf lit a sconce on the wall and gestured to the clutter. “Well then ladies, let’s find your duke, shall we?”

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

“I hadn’t realised that there were quite so many Pentaghasts and that they all look the same,” Leliana muttered to Josephine as they painstakingly moved yet another canvas to the pile of those checked and discarded. “I hope we will know the painting we seek when we find it.”

Josephine was about to answer but as she drew back the covering cloth on yet another picture, her breath caught in her throat. With trembling hands she carefully lifted the canvas and placed it on one of the easels where it caught the light from the sconce. At a superficial glance it could have been any one of the numerous portraits they had already examined and rejected, but even without checking the inscription attached to the frame she knew this was the one they sought. The tall, dark-haired man in the picture stared back proudly, with a familiar intent expression formed by the same dark eyes, prominent brows, narrow, hawk-like nose and wide, strong jaw that Josephine loved to trace on a regular basis. A fairer haired woman with high aristocratic cheekbones was seated beside him, holding a babe in her arms, while on her husband’s other side a boy of 12 or perhaps 13 years stood, one of his father’s hands resting paternally on his shoulder. He had the same dark hair and dark eyes as his father, and a mischievous grin that suggested he would grow up to be a favourite of the ladies.

Leliana read out the inscription. “Viktor Ferdinand Alexander Pentaghast III, Duke of Cumberland, with Duchess Claudia and their son Anthony, on the occasion of the name-day of their daughter.” She leant closer to the painting, peering at the infant cradled in her mother’s arms. “Josephine, is it just me, or does that disgruntled expression look very familiar?”

“ _Sweet Maker_ ,” Josephine laughed helplessly. “I am not going to point that out to her.”

“Come on then, let’s go and settle up with Einar, I am keen to return to Skyhold and I’m sure you do not wish to be away from your love for any longer. Unless of course you wish to do any other shopping first? I know an excellent lingerie shop in the Grand Bazaar if you wish to completely render Cassandra speechless.”

The spymaster rose, brushing cobwebs from her cloak, but before she could turn to leave Josephine caught her arm, turning so they faced each other fully. “Thank you,” she said quietly, ignoring the blush that rose in her cheeks from Leliana’s previous suggestion. “It will mean a great deal to Cassandra.”

Leliana smiled softly, with a fondness that the stern spymaster seldom showed, and leaned forward to kiss Josephine’s cheek gently. “It is my pleasure to help, I told you that you are both very dear to me.”

“What would I do without you, hmm?”

Leliana’s answering laugh floated along the corridor, bright as birdsong. “Oh, you would no doubt still be mooning hopelessly over your beloved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanart provided the inspiration for the painting in the Grand Cathedral: http://theboyofcheese.deviantart.com/art/Cassandra-Final-482241316. I could imagine many such paintings cropping up in the aftermath of the events of the Day of Dragons, and Cassandra being hideously embarrassed and denying their existence, and it was too much fun not to include it.


	8. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra is grateful to Josephine for the gift of the painting, helping her to remember her long-lost parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains fluffy but fairly explicit sexual content.

When the time finally came to present Cassandra with the painting, Josephine found herself unexpectedly nervous. What if her gift served the opposite purpose to that she intended, what if it brought back feelings to the surface that Cassandra had only just managed to bury again? She had thought long and hard over the best way to deliver the gift, and had settled in the end for having it temporarily hung in her study so that it didn't feel as if she was forcing it upon Cassandra in the event it proved unwelcome. All morning she had been distracted and jittery, trying her best to concentrate on correspondence despite the horde of rampaging bronto that appeared to have taken up residence in her stomach, and when finally she heard Cassandra's distinctive step along the corridor it was almost a relief despite her misgivings.

"I received your message," Cassandra began, reaching for Josephine's hands and bringing each in turn to her lips. She had evidently come from training judging by her damp, freshly combed hair and the scent of soap that clung to her skin. "You said you had something to show me?"

"Well," Josephine began anxiously, "I've been thinking about some of the things you told me about your family, and how you were too young to remember your parents. I thought this might help..." she trailed off awkwardly at Cassandra's suddenly stony expression, but there was no backing out now. She could do nothing to shield her lover on the battlefield, but in those domains where her own skills held sway she would do anything she could to protect Cassandra from less physical threats and for her happiness. “If you don’t like it I’ll have it taken away, you don’t have to put it in your quarters…” She trailed off as she realised she was gabbling, and instead guided Cassandra over to where the painting hung, clasping her hands together as she waited for the other woman’s reaction.

Cassandra stood silent and still, staring at the painting, her expression oddly inscrutable. Josephine steeled herself for anger or sadness, but still she said nothing, just _stood_ there. It was almost unbearable.

With a quiet exhalation of breath Cassandra reached partway towards the picture then stopped, her hand hovering in mid-air. Standing at her side Josephine watched Cassandra’s face in profile and saw her sharp features soften, and felt the tension within herself ease, a breath of her own leaving her in a relieved puff.

“I’ll leave you alone for a bit,” she murmured in the Seeker’s ear. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

Cassandra did not acknowledge her, her gaze still fixed on the picture, but Josephine left content in the knowledge that she had done the right thing after all.

 

. . . . . . . . . .

 

She had not thought it possible for the new Orlesian ambassador to be even more annoying than the last one, but after reading possibly the most tedious and pedantic diplomatic communique she had ever personally encountered, Josephine had to concede the point. With an appropriately ladylike and dignified sigh of disgust, she laid the letter aside and closed her eyes for a moment, reaching inside herself to try to find the quiet, calm place she retreated to when matters threatened to get on top of her.

“Josephine? Are you alright?”

She opened her eyes to find Cassandra standing beside her chair, regarding her with an expression of faint concern. “I am fine, thank you,” she quickly reassured, “just dealing with a particularly difficult ambassador.”

With characteristic economy of expression Cassandra made a sound which quite succinctly conveyed sympathy and mutual disgust, reaching out for Josephine’s hands and guiding her gently over to the pair of armchairs which stood before the fireplace.

“I wanted to thank you,” her gaze was slightly downcast, but she still held Josephine’s hands, thumbs tracing little circles across her knuckles. “For the painting. For… for giving them back to me.”

Josephine rose from her seat and went to her knees before Cassandra, resting her palms lightly against her thighs. “It was my pleasure, you know I would do anything for you.”

Cassandra looked up then, really looked, her gratitude clear and bright in her eyes and Josephine quailed slightly under the force of it. Her skin felt heated by the simple friction of Cassandra's gaze, the weight of feeling within it settling on her, sinking into her as if she could absorb it through her pores. The warm glow of the firelight gilded Cassandra's face, accentuating those oh-so-lovely high cheekbones and the dark shine of her hair, and before she was even consciously aware of her own intent Josephine had pulled her down to the thick soft rug and was kissing her with breathless passion. Cassandra made a small startled noise in her throat but responded swiftly in kind and Josephine let herself drown in the moment, the gentle dance of their lips, the sweetness of Cassandra's mouth and the warm press of her body against her own. A tidal wave of emotions, desire foremost among them, swept over her threatening to tear her mind loose from its moorings and leave her adrift, but she knew Cassandra, always Cassandra, would be her guide and anchor.

When the need to breathe finally parted their lips Cassandra's hand came up to cup Josephine's cheek, her eyes questioning.

"What do you want?" the words were quiet, undemanding,

Josephine swallowed, regarding Cassandra for a moment. She would never get tired of looking at her, but like this, hair slightly tousled from Josephine's fingers, eyes alight with dark promise and high colour in her cheeks, she was so wildly beautiful it all but stole the breath from her until her response was just a soft murmur against Cassandra's jaw.

" _You_. I want you, always."

As befits someone so wary of words and their deceptions, Cassandra's response was to kiss her again, her lips and tongue eloquent in a way she could never achieve through verbal expression. Josephine grinned wildly, seizing Cassandra's wrists so that the Seeker was pinned in her grasp, wriggling down to nip at the flesh of her neck.

"In fact," she added between pressing kisses to the hollow of Cassandra's throat, "I think I want you right here, right now, on this rug. I want to watch you move and see the firelight on your skin, I want to hear you call out my name. I want so many things..." She lost the train of her thought, distracted by the alluring slope of Cassandra's collarbone, and let it slip from her grasp, heedless for once of the need to find the right words.

“Well, you seem to have me at your mercy,” Cassandra’s smile promised all sorts of rewards for her boldness. Of course they both knew she could easily free herself should she wish, but in the time they had been together Josephine had discovered Cassandra was surprisingly content to allow Josephine to dictate the pace and progress of their lovemaking, and she found it endlessly arousing to have such a physically powerful woman in her command, to know that Cassandra trusted her with both her heart and her body.

“Hmm, I do, don’t I?” Josephine kept Cassandra’s arms stretched above her head with one hand, setting the other to unfastening the laces of the Seeker’s shirt. Each inch of olive skin so revealed she traced with her lips, relishing the warmth of the flesh and the way the muscles beneath twitched and fluttered. Cassandra writhed in her grip, head thrown back, as she loosed the final ties and parted the fabric just enough to expose her breasts to Josephine’s fervent gaze. Dipping her head she kissed the swell of each in turn, just above the nipple, then swirled her tongue beneath, and Cassandra groaned quietly at her teasing.

Josephine was not a naturally cruel person, but she loved the feeling of control she got in such moments. Cassandra’s body was an instrument she enjoyed playing with all of the skills at her disposal, and in return for her performance she reaped a marvellous symphony of sighs and moans and fevered whispers, of heated looks and desperate attempts to move closer to the source of the pleasurable torture. Hearing the sounds her lover made only inflamed Josephine further, setting an insistent pulse beating hotly in her core. The world contracted to just the two of them, her awareness extending no further than the circle of light and warmth and love they made together.

“Josephine…” Cassandra sighed, a softness in her voice rarely heard other than in these private moments. Josephine watched her through her lashes as she swirled her tongue around the Seeker’s nipples, coaxing them to stiff peaks, before taking each one into her mouth and sucking on it gently. Cassandra’s head was thrown back, the tendons in her neck standing out in sharp relief, and Josephine found herself entranced by the subtle play of muscles in her throat as her breath hitched in pleasure. When she used her teeth Cassandra swallowed a cry, her back arching, and Josephine had to breathe heavily herself against a burst of warmth and wetness between her legs. Sitting up, she began to divest herself of her dress, watching Cassandra’s eyes as they tracked every movement of her fingers and every inch of revealed skin. She never seemed to tire of watching Josephine undress, her appreciation of Josephine’s body a tangible, breathing thing that lived in her eyes and the soft touch of calloused fingers. Shucking her dress and her chemise, she fell back against Cassandra, throwing her arms around her neck and crawling as close as she could get, their breasts brushing delightfully together.

“You know, no one has ever looked at me quite like you do,” she murmured softly against Cassandra’s ear, kissing the soft skin beneath it.

“Hmm?” Cassandra’s fingers trailed down her shoulders and arms, brushing against the curve of her breasts. “How do I look at you?”

Josephine paused to try to frame coherent words. “Like someone looking at a treasure, made solely for their eyes to look upon.”

Cassandra smiled one of her rare quicksilver smiles, bright as the flash of sun against her shield at midday, Josephine’s heart turned over and the quiet moment dissolved in a quickening rush of desire. She tugged at Cassandra’s breeches, fumbling the fastenings in her eagerness which drew a wry smile from her lover as she obligingly assisted, her movements as she wriggled free of the garment doing little to help the insistent pulse in Josephine’s core, hot and heavy and demanding. With trembling hands she traced the soft skin of Cassandra’s inner thighs, dropping kisses along the path her fingertips had just travelled, then dipped her tongue into her silken warmth, tasting her arousal. Cassandra breathed shakily, fingers clenching against Josephine’s, but as her mouth quested further Josephine felt a tension within her lover’s body and the grasp of her hands and raised her head to study her, regarding Cassandra thoughtfully across the sculpted planes of her stomach and the swell of her breasts.

“What is it, _querida mía_? Don’t you want this?”

The warrior’s fingers tangled in Josephine’s hair, one hand cupping her cheek. “You know I love the way you make me feel, but tonight… I want to look at you, to hold you.”

Josephine smiled in understanding and eased herself back up over Cassandra’s body. It was one of the Seeker’s endearing qualities, her need for closeness and intimacy during lovemaking, and not something Josephine could find it within herself to complain about. Oh but how could she resist those dark eyes meeting hers as they drove each other to mutual bliss, lips entwining as fleetingly  as their ragged breaths would permit.

Cassandra had risen to her knees and Josephine settled between one powerful thigh, grinding herself against the steel-hard muscle with a lascivious groan. Cassandra kissed her urgently, fingers tightening against the nape of Josephine’s neck, then one hand dropped to cup her rump, lifting her slightly so that the other could slide between her legs, stroking firmly into the fiery heat at her centre, carefully rubbing against her sensitive apex before teasing at her entrance, opening her up. Josephine sighed in satisfaction against Cassandra’s mouth as she slipped one finger inside and then added another at Josephine’s sounds of encouragement, the base of her thumb keeping a delightful pressure against her swollen nub. The delicious friction and sense of fullness was intoxicating, so much so it took all her control and consideration to remind herself to see her lover’s needs.  Her own searching fingers did not meet much more resistance, sliding into the slick wetness of Cassandra’s folds as the warrior stifled a cry against Josephine’s neck.

Josephine had no idea how much time passed, aware of nothing beyond their entwined bodies, golden in the firelight, the delicious heat building up in her core and the rising need for release. She wasn’t sure she had ever felt anything quite so intensely and viscerally, she was aware of every miniscule movement of Cassandra’s hand, the roughness of her calloused fingers as they stroked her with careful skill, the minute trembling of her muscles where their bodies touched, the warm caress of her fevered breaths against her neck. Her brain felt fogged with need, with the awareness of approaching pleasure so huge and intense she almost wanted to shy away from it, but it was Cassandra giving her this pleasure, holding her tightly, swallowing Josephine’s gasps and moans against her mouth, and she could not deny her anything. Abandoning any attempt to muffle her sounds, she cried out helplessly with sheer physical joy as everything came to a shuddering, shattering peak, leaving her breathless and shaky as a new-born foal in Cassandra’s arms, the Seeker holding her close and whispering quiet words of love into her ear.

Once Josephine had recovered her breath and her senses, she turned her attention back to Cassandra, who wasn’t far behind her judging by the erratic beat of her heart and the trembling of her walls around Josephine’s fingers. The warrior was never particularly vocal, but Josephine loved the quiet little desperate sounds she did make, and the look of almost agonised bliss on her usually stern features. They tumbled together back to the rug, curled around each other, trembling and sated, and for a while no more words were needed.

“Josephine,” Cassandra murmured quietly, lifting her head from where she lay comfortably pillowed against Josephine’s breasts. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hmm?” There was something in Cassandra’s voice that instantly sharpened Josephine’s attention.

“The inquisitor once asked me where home was, and I answered that I didn’t really have a home, that it was wherever I happened to be, wherever I was needed.”

Josephine reached out to tenderly stroke Cassandra’s tousled raven head, smoothing errant strands. “Well, I suppose you have had a fairly itinerant existence due to the nature of your order.”

“Yes… and now that has changed. For the first time in a long while, I feel like I have a home, here with the Inquisition, and even a family of sorts. When I left Nevarra, I wanted to put everything I was, everyone I knew, behind me. The Seekers became my family then, and now they too are gone, but I have the inquisitor, Leliana, Cullen, even Varric, and most of all, _you_. My home now is wherever you are, Josephine.”

Josephine swallowed heavily against a sudden swell of affection and gently kissed Cassandra’s forehead. “Then I hope you will tarry a while, my sweet knight.”

Cassandra’s answering smile was a quiet and fragile thing that spoke of the wariness induced by too many losses and the knowledge that no promise came with a guarantee, but it was enough. “I plan to, my lady, for as long as you’ll have me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone who has commented and left kudos, I'm very out of practice with creative writing and it means a great deal to have such support from the DA:I fanfic community - I really do appreciate it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've published here and the first time writing this particular fandom, so please be gentle.
> 
> I've taken the odd liberty with Cassandra's personal history because the dates and ages in various bits of dialogue in the game are quite contradictory, so I've just used what works for this particular story. Likewise I've changed the closeness of her relationship to King Markus because it's obvious to anyone who thinks about it for more than a few seconds that she can't really be his fourteenth cousin nine times removed (especially if she is also 78th in line to the throne).
> 
> This was written in response to a kink meme prompt, so as such it presents a slightly different take on a possible relationship between Cassandra and Josephine and probably escalates somewhat quicker than it might under normal circumstances, but hopefully it's at least vaguely plausible due to the events occurring around them. Although I admit it was mostly a shameless excuse to write some smut.


End file.
